The Galilee Falls Trilogy (Book 2): Galilee Rising

by Harlow, Jennifer

  I gaze up at Jem, who peers from the counter to me, mouth agape with shock. I burst into laughter, nervous at first but joyous a second later. He catches the bug instantly. We just laugh and laugh as he kisses my hair and down my cheeks to my mouth. This kiss is swift but just as yummy. The man sure can smooch. The laughter subsides as the mirth drains from his face. There's something on mine that almost startles him now, even more so than even the bomb. He draws away as if I was the one about the explode.

  "I shouldn't-I-I have to go." He leaps up and begins to walk away. He's quickly out of view, but a second later he rounds the corner again. "Wait outside for the bomb squad. Please show them down here, then go straight home. Lock all the doors, and don't leave until I or one of the others arrive. Don't let anyone else in."

  "Jem--"

  "Joanna, please! Just do this for me. Please," he begs, not hiding his desperation.

  "Okay," I say with a nod.

  "I'll be by when I can. Be careful."

  And he leaves me alone in the dark beside a bomb, my lips tingling from his touch, without another word. I shake my head. Supermen.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  Post Mortem

  The bomb squad arrives minutes later. Two minutes longer than the bomb would have allowed them. Jem saved the hospital and no one will ever know. A crying shame. I escort the squad to the bomb then return upstairs to help the overwhelmed hospital staff in the parking lot and river walk where they've set-up a makeshift M.A.S.H. unit. Despite the evacuation, patients stream in from the smoldering bridge, which still crumbles into the river as fire crews try to control the blaze and continue rescue efforts. With the patients from inside, the ones from the bridge, and those injured from the flying glass, it's bedlam. I've had first-aid training so I make myself useful bandaging and ordering people around. As I channel Florence Nightingale, no pun intended, once or twice Liberty and Tempest fly in with someone from the bridge, but if they see me they don't let on. They dump their cargo and zoom off to save more. As time passes, and there are no more explosions, I assume Jem is successful with the other bombs. I'll chalk that down as a victory.

  It's dark by the time I drag my exhausted, bloodstained body home. Pendergast Bridge had ceased smoldering but lost a hundred feet of road and probably won't be usable for a minimum of over a year. Long way home from here on in. I take a quick shower, toss on some sweats, and literally run down to the command center. Tempest and Liberty, both still splattered in dust and blood, are already typing away on Doris. Liberty sits in front of the computer where an image of Cain from the transmission fills the screen. "I told you, I don't know how to do that!" Liberty shouts to her hovering husband.

  "Do what?" I ask as I walk down.

  Both turn and seem relieved to see me. "Jesus Christ, there you are. We were getting worried," Liberty says.

  "They needed help at the hospital. Jem's not back yet?"

  "Not yet. He--" Tempest realizes his mistake. "What?"

  "He told you?" Liberty asks, mouth agape.

  "No, I figured it out weeks ago, Lexie."

  She and her husband exchange an uncomfortable glance. "But--"

  "I think we have more pressing concerns right now. Get up." She does, and I plop in the computer chair. "What are you trying to do?"

  "Analyze the background noise in case we can hear his accomplice," Tempest says. I pull up the program and fine tune it. "How much do you know?"

  "Most." I shake my head. "There's too much ambient noise from the boilers to isolate it. Sorry." I spin in the chair to face them. "Have you spoken to the police? Have they lifted any prints from the camera?"

  "No, and they're still processing all the prints on and around the bomb," Liberty says.

  "Jem's will be on the one from the hospital. He wasn't wearing gloves."

  "Shit," Tempest says. "That fucking…" He groans. "That'd be all we need."

  "I'll take care of it." I sigh. "I think we should tell the police who Cain really is. Get his picture out there, his name."

  "GFPD have all his past aliases, of which I'm sure are useless as he's using a new one now," Tempest says. "He also disguises himself in public. We've been through this three times before. And there are other considerations. It'd put Jem Ambrose on their radar. He'd be placed under surveillance, or worse. He could be exposed."

  "Trust us, we've had this debate a dozen times before," Liberty adds. "Jem's our best hope of finding the prick. He can't do that if he's being followed. We'll only pull that pin if we have no other option."

  "Fine. So what do we do now?"

  "All we have at present are the bombs and this broadcast," Tempest says. "He hacked into BNN's signal like before. The man he used last time is serving five years in prison, so he must have found someone else. I already pulled a list from the database. If you can track them down, we can cull the list. We know it was filmed in the boiler room but when? He left the camera for a reason, though."

  "Jem took a tape out of it," I say. "I don't know what was on it."

  The duo exchanges an angry look, and Tempest shakes his head. "Did he now?"

  I don't like his tone, and the last thing we need is antipathy amongst ourselves. "Maybe we'll get a print off it. I don't know that much about Cain. Would he make his own bombs?"

  "Yeah," Tempest answers. "And we're still no closer to finding who helped him steal the explosives from the military base, assuming the two are related."

  "Like anyone doubts they are," Liberty says. "And that trail's cold."

  "What else do we have?" I ask. "Does he have known accomplices in town?"

  "Not that we're aware of," Tempest says.

  "We have nothing. Nothing! Twenty people are dead and we have nothing!" Liberty all but shouts. "Not a fucking thing, as usual!" Her eyes grow wide. "You! You bastard!"

  Tempest and I spin around as Liberty stalks toward the beach entrance. Nightingale stands in full regalia staring at his oncoming pissed friend. When I lock eyes on him, a giant weight lifts. Since he left, in my few spare moments, I've been playing out a hundred scenarios where heinous events had befallen him. I suppress the urge to race over to him and throw my arms around him. Liberty beats me to him anyway. "You son of a bitch! You lied to us! You said he was dead. You told us you saw him die!" she screams as she shoves him.

  "I'm sorry. I couldn't do it," Nightingale says. "I couldn't watch. I left him unconscious on that plane seconds before it crashed into the ocean. He couldn't have survived."

  "That's what you said the last time too," she spits out. "We could have been hunting him down all this time! How the hell are we supposed to trust you if you keep lying to us?"

  "I'm sorry," is all he can muster.

  "Fuck your sorry," Liberty says as she turns around to walk away. A moment later she spins toward him again. "Oh, and thanks for telling your fucking girlfriend who we all are, even though I distinctly remember multiple conversations where we asked you not to!"

  "He didn't tell me," I say.

  Her gaze whips to me. "Excuse me if I find that a tad hard to believe from Justin Pendergast's best friend," she says with a sneer.

  "Okay, enough!" Tempest roars. "Enough! It's done, it's all done. Cain's alive, Joanna knows, nothing we can do will change either. The question is, where do we go from here? What's his game this time?"

  "Yeah, does he want to throw a hissy fit like the first time? Kill us all like the second? Or is he just bored like the third?" Liberty asks in a snarky tone.

  Nightingale removes the tape from his belt. "This should answer your question."

  He moves over to us, putting the disk in Doris without even a glance my way. Ignoring me. Stellar. Once again Emperor Cain's smiling face fills the monitor. The brothers' smiles really are uncannily similar. "Hello, old friends. Miss me? I certainly missed all of you." I glance at Nightingale, whose mouth is set vice tight. "Liberty, you're looking as beautiful as ever. I hope that napalm from our last sojourn didn't leave a scar."

  "Fu
cker," she mutters.

  "And Tempest, still barking orders and cowing my poor big brother?" He tsks. "I don't hold it against you. He never did enjoy thinking for himself. I don't know how you can stand him as a partner, weak as he is. It always disgusted me." Cain shakes his cowled head. "I suppose I should be grateful for it, though, his weakness. I'm still convinced it was he who uncoupled my handcuffs on the plane last time." We glance at Nightingale for a reaction but don't find one. "Even after all our fights, all we've been through my dearest Jem, you still could not let me die. It touched me, brother. It really did." I actually believe him. I move my hand to touch Jem, but he won't let me. He yanks his hand away. Another sting to my ego. I don't allow it to show.

  "I gave considerate thought as to why that is, brother dear." Cain continues. He leans toward the camera. "I believe everyone in the room knows the answer as well. They may pretend they understand you, even that they care about you, but it's underneath their eyes, isn't it? You're still a freak even among the freaks. But worry not, Scout's back, and it'll be just like old times big brother. I promise. See you soon." He kisses at the camera then it cuts to black. Thank you, Jesus.

  No one speaks for a few seconds as we process this new information. Liberty breaks the tension. "So…he's bored."

  "No. He's lonely," I say as I glance at Nightingale, who hangs his head.

  "Jesus Christ, cry me a fucking river," Liberty snaps. She takes a step toward Jem. "This is all your fault. We had a deal last time. You--"

  I rise between them, acting as a human barrier. My eyes burn into Liberty's. "Stop it," I hiss. "Leave him alone. Right now."

  "No! Joanna, you don't know the absolute hell that psychopath's put us through. The beatings, the shootings, the burns. I-I've held children in my arms as they died because of him."

  "He's a fucking monster, you get no debate from me on that, okay? I'm just saying, right now, if you continue this, you are letting him win. This is what he wants, can't you see that? That's his endgame: The World versus Jem Ambrose."

  "What do you mean?" Tempest asks.

  "Think about it. He made those bombs damn easy to find. There were no stipulations about how or who could defuse them. The only one that went off was right outside Jem's work, the rest he all but left a damn map to. Cain went on national television saying he was only killing people because of you. People are already screaming for you to leave town. Now that tape for only you to see. It's Uma all over again. He's trying to take away the one thing he feels is keeping their reconciliation from happening, the one thing brings him happiness. Saving people. This. You." I turn to Nightingale. "Right?"

  "Yes," he says quietly.

  I spin back around to the others. "See? So stop dwelling on the past and concentrate on how we're going to stop him this time."

  "She's right," Tempest says, placing his hands on his wife's shoulders. "We need to start working on strategy. Cain--"

  "Not here," Jem cuts in as he steps around me. "This is the last time any of us sets foot in this house in uniform until he's found. She has nothing more to do with this, with us."

  "What?" I ask. "No."

  "We have to assume he'll have people following me, if he doesn't already," he says to the other two. "If Joanna's not already in his sights, I don't want to put her there now."

  "You two have been playing kissy face all over town," Liberty says. "There's already gossip."

  "We were never publicly affectionate, and I've been telling people they've just been business meetings, in part for this very contingency." His gaze whips back to me. "Call board members and begin asking about investing in my drug company now you have enough information about it. Maybe start…publicly dating someone to quell the rumors, someone who won't mind lying to the press about when you started the relationship." I'm about to open my mouth to protest, but he turns away. "If you have to come over here, come as yourselves. In case her phones and e-mails are being surveiled, no shop talk. Regardless, she's no longer part of this."

  "Excuse me, I am right her--"

  He spins around again, grabbing me hard by the arm and dragging me toward the couch. "This is not up for debate. One of those bombs was in your office building. If we didn't need it so badly, I'd smash that computer so you wouldn't be tempted to use it. You're done. Finished. This is not your fight. You are to have nothing more to do with this. With us. In any capacity. What happened today between us, all of it, was a mistake," he says, lowering his voice. "I shouldn't have…" He shakes his head. He can't even say it. "I'm sorry."

  "No. No way you're benching me. I--"

  He squeezes my arms even harder. "He'll kill you!" he says desperately through gritted teeth. "He. Will. Kill. You. No." He releases me, literally casts me aside and looks at the others. "I have the old communicator, we'll keep in touch that way." He pauses. "I am sorry for this. All of it. I…bye."

  Without a glance my way, he walks out the way he came, then flies down the dark tunnel to the beach. I think I've just been sucker punched in the gut, it sure feels like that. I've lost him before I ever had him.

  "Someone should go after him," Tempest says to his wife.

  She scowls. "Fine," she says before lifting off the ground to fly away.

  "Are you okay?" Tempest asks me.

  "Um, fine," I say, clearing my throat.

  "He's right, you know," he says, stepping toward me. "If Cain even suspected--"

  "I know!" I shout, voice echoing through the cavern. Tempest is taken aback as I am. "Sorry. I'm just going to…" I point to the exit, bow my head, and start up the ramp to the living room in a daze. I've shut down again. Everything's gone one degree fuzzier than before. It's damn stuffy in the living room, so I walk outside to the patio in case that helps. It doesn't. I sit in the chair and unclip my cell phone before I even realize it. I still have work to do. If Cain has tapped my phones, he knows I'm in this game already. I'll risk the call. He picks up on the fifth ring.

  Over the commotion in the background, he says, "Captain O'Hara."

  "It's Jo."

  "Hold on a second." I can hear him walking to shut the door. "Are you okay?"

  "Yeah, but I need a favor. Have you processed the prints from the hospital bomb yet?"

  "Just about to. Why?"

  "You're going to find the one from the hospital has prints all over it. I need you to…lose that report."

  "What? Why?"

  "The prints on it don't belong to any of the perps, they'll belong to the person who defused the bomb. And his life will be ruined if word gets out he's in anyway associated with this. You know I wouldn't ask if it wasn't absolutely necessary."

  The other end is quiet for a few seconds. "If you're withholding evidence, Jo--" he warns.

  "I'm not," I lie. "Look, I know it's a lot to ask, but I swear on Justin's grave the man whose fingerprints on that bomb had nothing to do with this. Not directly, anyway. I saw him handle the bomb, and we are damn lucky he did. I can't get more specific than that. I know I have no right to ask, but I am. I am asking you to trust me. Please."

  More silence, more tense fucking long horrible silence, then, "You have been working with them, haven't you? I knew it! Jo, what the hell are you thinking? After everything--" I think he moves the phone away in an attempt to regain his composure. I do have that effect on him. On all men it seems. "Jo," he says, calmer now, "whatever you're doing, or thinking of doing, don't. Get out. Get away from those people before you become too involved."

  I don't know what it is about that last word, but it makes tears well in my eyes. I bite my lip to stop the fuckers. "It's too late for that, Harry." Get a hold of yourself, for Christ's sake. "Um, I assume you're helping the Feds with this one, so I'll send you all I have on Cain. We think he was responsible for an explosives theft a few weeks ago. I'll send you that file too. Just please get rid of that report or you'll ruin a great man's life. Please."

  "I'll see what I can do," he says.

  "Thank you, Harry. Bye."


  I'm about to end the call, when he says, "Joanna? Look after yourself, alright?"

  No one else is going to, right? "I will. Bye, Harry." I hang up, pulling my legs up so I'm hugging them to my chest, and stare up at the starry sky.

  Here I am again. All alone.

  Fuck hope.

  *

  I didn't want to see any of them after that so I retreated into my bedroom, passed out after five minutes, woke at 5am, and returned to work. I've never been good at doing what I was told. Never. Rebel with several causes, me. I review all the progress the others made--very little-- save for IDing a partial print on the disk. Only problem is that the man it belongs to a man that has been dead for over five years. Danny Watkins, Alkaline henchman, was presumed dead after being shot during a police raid led by Justice. The body was never recovered because the place then exploded. Watkins specialty was bombs. The search on him through the databases came back empty. He hasn't used any past aliases or been flagged in any worldwide search since his "death." Our best lead and it is a literal dead end.

  They also reviewed the CCTV footage in and around the bombing sites last night. The cameras on the bridge were too high to get a decent look at who planted the charges, but it does show a five man construction crew working around 4am yet no permit was authorized. They did get a shot of the license plate. The truck used was stolen that same night, and it was found torched in the Ward last night. Even less luck at the hospital. There are no cameras in the boiler room or stairwell that far down and with thousands walking in daily, and no idea the time it was planted, we can't identify who carried it in. Pendergast Industries footage wasn't much better, and city hall's cameras were bypassed as best we can tell. The park footage was a bit better. The bomb was in a shopping cart pushed by a homeless person. A few cameras caught the face of a man in ratty clothes leaving the cart by the fountain. After Doris works her magic, he'd ID'd as Gary Acevedo, thug for hire. Per his wrap sheet, he worked for Alkaline too. Small world. I send all the information to Harry as promised.