She always cuts to the quick. I like that in a person. We sit across from each other in silence for a few seconds before I work up the courage to say, "I know I told you this already, but…thank you. For kicking my ass, for taking me to that place, for putting up with that therapy session, all of it. You didn't have to--"
"Of course I did," she cuts in, sounding offended. "I've invested too much time and energy in you to let you drink it all away during some pity party. Besides…we're family. He would never forgive me if I let something happen to you."
We let those words hang between us like a hangman's noose. I gaze down again, and she glances around the room anywhere but at me. "It'll be a year next week," I say.
"I know."
"Mayor Miracle organized a rally in the park. They're unveiling a statue, and I'm supposed to give a speech," I say, rolling my eyes. "I don't have a clue what to say. 'Look how much the town has gone to hell since he sacrificed himself for me. Sorry, my bad?'"
Her thin lips purse with disapproval. "If this lunch is going to turn maudlin, I'm leaving. I don't want to hear about your misplaced shame. He loved you. He did what he had to to protect you. And I doubt if he was presented the situation over again, he would make a different choice."
The waiter returns with our salads and leaves. Like a chastised child, I pout and pick at my food. "I keep dreaming about him."
She stops eating. "And I definitely don't want to hear about that."
My eyes narrow. "Nothing sexual. We just talk. He always seems so…happy. He says he's proud of me a lot." I set my fork down. "Jesus Christ, even when he's dead I need his approval. How fucked up is that?"
"He may not have always liked your choices, but he was always proud of you. Even now. As am I."
"Thank you," I say, humbled.
She clears her throat. "Now, may we please change the topic? This lunch has become far too gloomy for comfort. What else have you been up to besides communing with the dead?"
I fill her in on the latest business deals, gossip and scandals in Galilee. That last one takes awhile. She tells me about her volunteer work at the National Museum and new girlfriend, Amelia. "Ernest Miracle must be kissing the Triumvirate's feet for arriving two months before the election," Lucy says. "I heard that crime went down two percent in a month."
"That's what the paper says."
"I heard what happened at the Historical Society."
"Yeah, thank God Liberty showed up when she did," I say.
"So you approve of supers now? My, what a difference a year makes."
I start picking at my food. "Actually, I'm, uh…working with them."
Her fork stops midway to her lips. "I'm sorry?"
"They just appeared one night wanting to use the computer. Justin must have told them where to find it. I offered to help, and after some persuasion, they agreed."
"Is that wise? After what happened last year?"
"I don't go out in the field with them. I'm not out there beating up Hexen. I sit in front of a computer in an underground office and compile data. It's what Justin would want."
"The hell it is! He would want you to be safe. Out in the world living your life, not trapped in a bunker performing illegal searches for people who put a target on your back."
"Well, at least this time I know I'm in league with a hero."
There's that look I've missed. That "why do I associate myself with riff-raff" gaze she doled out to me like a toothbrush at Halloween. "Fine. It's your life. Just be careful."
"Like a virgin at an orgy," I say, toasting her with my water. There's that look again. "So, did Justin ever mention anything about them that might be useful?"
"He rarely mentioned that side of his life to me. I wanted no part of it, for obvious reasons you should well remember." She sips her water. "I do know they were effective at their jobs. When Independence realized they left, there was an outcry. And I don't want to carry on with this discussion. I've had enough superhero discussions for a lifetime." She dabs the side of her mouth with a napkin. "So, besides your little side project, anything else you care to tell me? Are you seeing anyone?"
"No-Not really," I stutter. "I made some new friends. Remember Jem Ambrose, Rebecca's friend? I think you met him."
Her mouth purses with disapproval. "I know the name."
"Well, we've been having lunch." Every other day for the past two weeks. I keep finding reasons for showing up at the hospital. God bless the recovery wing. Not to mention the late night phone calls into the wee hours. "And we went hiking to the Falls. He didn't know anyone else in town, so I took him under my wing. Figured I owed it to Rebecca."
She studies my face, and I wish I could hide in a closet. "You're blushing, Joanna."
Oh, fuck. I hate being pale. "We're just friends. Really. He's just, uh, I can talk to him. About almost anything. He's…easy to be around, and really smart, and sweet, and awkward and I don't know." I chuckle. "And he's so screwed up. He has no idea how amazing he really is. It's fucking wonderful. I don't feel like a freak around him. But there's this strength in him too." I shake my head. "When we're together, it's just natural. Like when I was around…you know, minus the constant need to impress," I say, looking away
"He sounds wonderful," Lucy says.
"He is! That's the problem. I…like him. A lot. But I don't know if I can trust him. And I want to, I may even, which scares the fuck out of me. Plus, you and I both know I'll find some way to screw it up, especially if we start dating." I groan. "Ugh, I hate this. I sound like a fucking girl."
"Can't have that," Lucy says with a smirk. "You need to stop worrying, Joanna. If it's meant to be, everything will fall into place."
"You sound like my friend Lexie."
"Another friend? Aren't you popular."
"She and her husband moved from Independence too. They…" Holy shit. My mouth falls like my stomach, but I snap it shut with a chuckle. "They're good people." I chug my water.
"It sounds like you're doing well." She signals the waiter for the check.
"You too."
I pay for lunch, and we step outside onto the busy Independence streets. The white Presidential Monument arches tall above the city with the flag whipping in the wind. Makes me feel almost patriotic. The restaurant doorman hails a cab, and my driver pulls up as well. "Take care of yourself, Joanna." Lucy gives me a stiff hug before climbing into the cab.
I wait until it's out of sight before sliding into my town car. What a difference a year makes. I do believe that woman officially likes me. "Airport, please."
The driver starts moving as I pull out my cell. We round the corner. Gone an hour and I have seven messages, all work, but my mind isn't on them. We stop at a light. I can't believe I didn't see--
The sound of sirens, automatic gunfire and crashing cars jolts me from my thoughts. The intersection in front of us flips from calm to crazy in a second flat. The cars passing through gun their engines to get out of the way, of what I don't know. Nothing good, that's for damn sure. The gunfire booms louder with each passing millisecond. My mouth dries up and body goes on high alert. Fuck. I blink and an armored truck with three men, one hanging out the passenger window and two in the back, firing Uzis zooms into view with only one bullet riddled police car chasing it. A few cars in front of the truck veer to a stop as their driver's panic. The few cars behind the truck swerve out of the bullet path, one crashing into the glass window of a bakery. Right as the truck passes into our intersection, the tenacious police officers lose the battle. A bullet hits the latch and the hood of the car flies up, blocking their line of sight. The officer loses control and swerves in our direction. Instinct takes over. I scream, "Get down!" at my driver as I duck. I've barely stopped moving when glass rains down over me as a barrage of bullets meant for the cruiser pepper the town car. The carnage is over as soon as it started. I open my eyes and see the plumes of smoke wafting out of the upholstery where the bullets lodged in the driver's headrest. "You okay?" I ask the driver.
"
Oh, Jesus, oh, Jesus," he mutters. He's fine.
Another crash, louder this time, makes me sit up. The armored truck is out of sight and the bystanders in cars and on the street slowly rise from the pavement. A construction worker helps the police out of their overturned car ten feet to my left. The gunfire stops a second later, and I let out the breath I was holding. I think it's--nope.
The gunfire begins again, moving closer. Time progresses slowly. The few people still on the street sprint inside for cover. My driver starts praying again and ducks down as a man in full tactical SWAT gear and balaclava lays covering fire behind himself as he rounds the corner. Coming right for us.
I don't think. I just do. My hand reaches inside my purse, pulling out the Taser and pearl handled .22 I carry for just such emergencies. I have to time this just right. I peek through my shattered side window. With the gun now in my waistband and Taser in hand, as the shooter runs beside the front passenger door, I throw mine open with all my might. It hits home. He smashes right into the door, chest and legs first. Dazed, he drops the Uzi and falls to the cement with a groan. The moment he wipes out, I zap his leg with the Taser. His body convulses, then grows still when I release the button. I know from experience how scrambled the bastard's brain is now. Good.
On shaky everything, I manage to climb out of the car, training the .22 on the stunned man. The Uzi has skidded out of reach but not the Glock on his belt. Breathing heavily, I crouch down and retrieve it, throwing the .22 into the town car. I keep the Glock on him as I Taser him again. I'll just keep zapping until the cavalry arrives.
"Holy shit." My gaze whips up toward the man who steps out of the store in front of me. More people follow him. That's when I realize the gunfire around the corner has stopped.
"Everyone get back ins--"
Quick movement to my right startles me enough to turn the gun that way. As if materializing from thin air, a tall man in a black and white costume with "WN" on his broad chest appears. My gun is trained right on his completely masked face where only the eyes are visible. They lock on mine, and he's suddenly breathing as heavily as I am, gasping even. The man raises his hands in surrender. "Please lower your weapon," he whispers for some reason. "I'm one of the good guys." That voice literally sends a chill down my spine as if someone walked over my grave. Why--
"Lower your weapon," another man shouts. I glance left to find a bleeding police officer approaching, pistol right on me.
I toss the Glock near the Uzi. "You guys are welcome," I say cattily.
The, I'm assuming, hero lowers his hands as the officer steps beside me. "Got this?" the hero asks in that same low tone that can barely be heard over the oncoming sirens.
"Yes, sir," the officer says, pulling out his cuffs.
The hero nods, then looks back at me, eyes burring on my face. He stares but when I try to meet his eyes, he gazes down. "I…" His mask moves where his mouth should be but no more noise comes out. Instead he grabs me by the shoulders hard enough to hurt, giving me one quick shake. "Never do that again." He releases me, and disappears as fast as he came.
I roll my eyes. Sometimes I really hate superheroes.
*
Better late than never. I return home five hours later than planned what with giving my statement, accompanying my driver to the hospital after he went into shock, followed by a traffic jam to the airport. I'm glad I broke that bastard's nose for all the trouble he and his friends caused me. On the plane I was waiting for the panic attack, or at least cathartic crying jag, but neither reared their ugly heads. Instead I fell asleep until Shannon woke me when we landed. Both she and Dobbs knew better than to ask questions. We drop Shannon off at her apartment and drive home listening to the news. The robbery didn't go national, and I can only pray my name doesn't get leaked or it will. I don't want certain people to worry. When we walk into the mansion, without a word Dobbs and I go our separate ways. I can tell he's worried, but I don't want to talk about it. Ever.
I strip off my clothes--even now shards of glass tumble out--and climb into the scalding shower until I prune. I feel nothing. I heard four police officers were injured, two civilians were shot, but no fatalities. My driver, who I learned is named Luis after we spent an hour in the hospital waiting room, is now at home with his wife and babies, no doubt hugging them tight. Lucky bastard in every damn sense. I towel off, throw on pajamas, and slide into bed. Okay, really I stare at the phone on my nightstand, buzzing with nervous energy like I'm about to supernova. I lose track of how long I do this, willing it to ring or for me to pick it up and dial.
I sent him a text at the hospital that lunch went well, that I was looking forward to our sailing lesson tomorrow, and nothing else. He's probably at home now, reviewing gene therapy studies for his next project. His eyes light up when he talks about the research. I could call or just show up at his apartment. No, that's the exact wrong thing to do at least for me. I know what will happen, and it can't. I stop the torture by fleeing the temptation. Works with the booze.
Oh, of course. I have guests. Tonight both Nightingale and Liberty sit at the computer. Perfect. We're still tracking down the explosives with little success. That success being the criminals in town are quaking in their boots after getting paid a visit or ass-beating from the Triumvirate. Both heroes look my way as I walk down. Since the backrub debacle Nightingale and I have been quietly working side-by-side with no mention of anything not pertaining to the work. I just adore an awkward office environment.
Liberty pivots around first, mouth open in surprise, while her companion spins back the way he was, away from me. Not a happy camper. "There you are," she says, standing. "We were worried. Are you okay?"
"Why?" I ask.
"Why do you think? We heard what happened."
Of course they did. "How?"
"We have connections," Nightingale says with a hint of anger.
"Did you really Taser a guy in the balls?" Liberty asks with a mischievous smile.
"Just the leg and shoulder."
"Too bad." She scans me like an MRI machine. "Well, you look intact. How are you feeling?"
"Fine," I say, scanning her too. Wish I could see her eyes.
"It's always a trip, huh? Getting shot at?"
"If you say so."
Liberty's mouth purses. "Fine, don't give us details." She glances at her colleague. "See what you can get out of her. I'm going on patrol." She spins on her heel and walks away.
"Ciao," I say.
"Ciao," she says before lifting off the ground and flying down the passage.
A small smile crosses my face, but I drop it before gazing at Nightingale, who is still blanking me. I sit in the spare chair next to him. "What are we working on tonight?"
"Nothing," he says. "Reviewing files."
"Any news on the explosives? We know they haven't been sold in Galilee so maybe we expand to Pacific City or--"
"We've hit a wall," he says, voice hard. "The government's on it."
"So, we're giving up? What if--"
He turns to me. "We're you even going to tell m--us about the shoot-out?"
My mouth snaps shut. "Why? I'm fine. Shit happens."
"You were shot at. You risked your life for nothing. What were you thinking?"
"That a dangerous man was getting away, and that I could stop him."
"It was idiotic," he says. "You could have been killed. Don't you care?"
"I…" I can't seem to find the right words. "I reacted. I did what I had to."
"That's the point. You don't have to. White Night had the situation well under control."
"Not from where I was sitting. In my bullet riddled car, I might add. You weren't there. The man who shot at me was getting away. I could stop him. I did. You of all people should know what that's like. So unless you're hanging up your cape: pot, kettle, black your Lordship."
This shuts him up. He sits there breathing heavily and staring. After a few seconds, he hangs his head and says, "I just don't want anything t
o happen to you. You're…a friend." He clears his throat and returns to Doris. "I-I assume you won't be that foolhardy again. There are too many people who depend on you. Employees, family, whatnot. You had an ordeal today. You must still be in shock. You should speak to someone."
"I'll be fine. It wasn't like the KitKat incident. I wasn't the target."
"Still. There must be someone more…suitable for you to talk to. A person you're more at ease with."
"I'm not calling anyone. There's no need. Look, stop worrying. I'm really okay. What I need right now is to work." I turn to the computer screen. "So, if they didn't sell the explosives, then we're looking for a terrorist group or possibly a villain. There are a few villains we couldn't find in the city, but maybe it wasn't one of our regulars. Or the locations of the bases were incidental. Galilee won't be the target. The base had the laxest security or an inside man."
"Everyone was cleared. We've hit a wall. We really have done all we can. It's time to move on."
"So we're just giving up?"
"We'll keep our ears to the ground and eyes open. Nothing else to do."
"I don't like giving up," I say.
"I know," he says, glimpsing my way. "Nor do I. We just…have no choice. Accept what we cannot change, correct?"
I raise an eyebrow. "Been to many A.A. meetings, have we?"
"Have you been to one recently?"
"I'm not going to get plastered because some asshole sprayed bullets at me."
"If you say so," he says in a small voice. The temperature in the room feels like it's gone down twenty degrees, the chill emanating from my companion.
"I do say. And it's none of your damn business anyway."
"Fine." It lowers another ten degrees.
"Good. So, what should we do in the meantime?"
He pauses before swallowing as if he's tasted something sour. "We're trying to track Boneshaker. One of the men we spoke to about the explosives said he was approached last week by Mr. Percy about a potential job at the Botanical Gardens. We're keeping an eye on it. Then there's the garden variety crime. Tempest is pursuing a family annihilator, as is your old squad. All is well in hand." He stands. "I'm done here, it's all yours. Enjoy your evening, Miss Fallon." He steps away, mouth set straight in anger.
The Galilee Falls Trilogy (Book 2): Galilee Rising Page 9