The Galilee Falls Trilogy (Book 2): Galilee Rising

by Harlow, Jennifer

  "What are you talking about?" Harry asks.

  "Superheroes. All those years I despised them. Everyone said I was wrong. That they were good for us. Powerful. Righteous. They were on the side of the angels. Gods that walk the earth to protect us. I realized…those people are morons. Because they forgot, we forgot, with God comes the Devil. I forgot this. I drank the Kool-Aid, and I kept drinking it even though the first time I did with Justin, it brought me to death's door. I guess I'm just a glutton for punishment, huh?" I chuckle, which turns into full blown cackling. Harry just stares at me as if I've cracked. Good. "Oh, life is just so fucking ridiculous, isn't it? Good Lord."

  He lets me continue cackling like a loon for about thirty seconds before I taper them off. I really need to make sure I don't overact. Harry believes me, though. He shifts uncomfortably on the couch. "Are you…okay?"

  I cackle again. "Yes, I'm fine. Completely fine. Can't you tell?" I shake my head and chuckle some more. "Oh, Harry." I fall back into the couch in defeat and roll my eyes at my own fake stupidity. My wonderful ex gazes at me, so sad for me. Perfect. The man is so damn close to perfect. "Why did you like me?"

  "I'm sorry?"

  "You were the only man worth a lick who ever gave me the time of day. Why on earth did you do that?"

  "Joanna…"

  "No. Really. I really need to hear it."

  He stares at me, hopefully seeing a lonely, desperate woman ruined by a broken heart. Once again, years of experience pay off. Glad my pain was finally good for something. "Your tenacity. Your loyalty. Your ability to think on your feet. How you never put up with people's crap, even when it costs you. How you fight with all you've got when you think the cause is worth it. Your smile. Your wild hair. That noise you make right before you…" He blushes. "You know. You're a good person, Jo. If I, of all people can say it, then know it's true. But for the life of me, I just don't know why you can't believe it."

  "Because you seem to be the only man to ever see it, Harry. And I threw you away." I sit up and smile sadly. "I'm happy you found someone, my hand to God I am. You deserve every happiness in this world," I say sincerely. "I just…I don't know." I flop back against the couch again. "I miss you. I miss Justin. I miss the guys in the squad. I am…completely alone. All I have is the work now." I gaze down at my wringing hands. "Maybe that's all I'll ever have. Maybe it's all I deserve. But by God if that is the case, I'm gonna do it right. If this city and its citizens are all I got, then no matter what, I have to do right by them. To protect them. And I will do whatever is necessary to achieve that." I pause for effect, pretending to struggle to get the next few words out. "Dr. Jonathan Ambrose."

  "What about him?"

  "You might want to question him about his twin brother, Jordan, and their…destructive rivalry," I say with venom. Harry's eyes narrow behind his glasses. "What you choose to do with this information is up to you. I trust you. If you feel the need to distribute what you discover from him, I will back you fully in your determinations. With documented evidence and eyewitness testimony if needed."

  At first he's confused, but that only lasts a second. "Lord Nightingale."

  "Yes. I shouldn't have kept it from you, but at the time my loyalty was misplaced. I've had some sense knocked into me since. I shouldn't have let emotion cloud my judgment. Consider me cloud free and completely on your side from here on. Just go talk to him. As I said, if you feel the need to release information to the press, such as a picture of Jordan Ambrose, by all means."

  "Okay. Thank you."

  I rise from the couch and smooth my pants. "If you have any follow-up questions, I'm here. Just don't say anything over the phone. I'm fairly sure Jordan's bugged them."

  "Good to know." He stands too. "Are you sure you're going to be okay?"

  "I'm fine, Harry," I say with a proper smile. "Really. I'll see you to the door." We walk out and through the long hallway, past the disapproving Pendergasts, to the front door without a word. I keep my eyes straight ahead, but Harry keeps glancing at me with trepidation. I open the front door with a gracious grin. "Thank you for coming. Really. If I learn anything else, I'll contact you. I promise. And good luck with Dr. Ambrose. Just keep at him. He's not as tough as you might think," I say with an undercurrent of scorn. "Bye."

  As I shut the door, Harry says, "Joanna?"

  I open it again. "Yes?"

  "Look, I don't know what happened, but whatever it is…you deserve to be happy. You really do."

  For whatever reason this sentiment makes me burst into a real giggle. "Oh, Harry," I say, shaking my head. "When has anyone ever gotten what they really deserved in this life?" Still laughing, I shut the door on the man I never, ever deserved.

  *

  With that piece of theater complete, I return to the plethora of work calls and e-mails I've neglected these past two days. It actually feels good to focus on something non-Cain related. Depressed Joanna always did throw herself into work when the going got tough. Of course I can't stop glancing at the clock as I satiate my workaholic side. I don't know if Harry will go directly to Jem or wait a day or two after he's gathered more information. He will visit, though. For all our sakes I hope it's sooner rather than later. Harry's probably really concerned about me, even kicking himself for leaving me in such an agitated state. Jem will set him right. All part of the plan.

  When I'm finally done with work, a million hours later, I burn myself a frozen pizza and curl up on the sofa to watch TV. I have to be ready if he arrives tonight. Around nine-thirty, I'm about to abandon my vigil when the moving fireplace startles me. Jem, in full Lord Nightingale uniform, steps into my living room, lips twitching in anger. Ready for round two. Fight!

  "Jesus Christ! You scared the hell out of me!" I say with a hard tone. "You know, I think from now on if you have to come here, you should send a text first or something."

  "Our phones are bugged, remember?" Nightingale says, matching my tone.

  "Even better. Don't come over at all." I switch off the TV. "When you do, you might as well just paint another target on my back." I stand with a sneer. "I have no desire to be scraped out of a bombed out car too, thank you very much." I walk past him as I say, "Do what you came to do and leave. I'm going to bed."

  "I was called into your old precinct today," Nightingale says as I reach the door. I spin around. "Captain O'Hara had several questions for me about my brother. Jordan."

  "Did he? Imagine that."

  Nightingale's mouth drops open. "Why? Why did you do that? He was talking about releasing a photo of Jordan to the press. What…" He's stunned into speechlessness. "W-Why?"

  "He's in charge of the case. He needed to know. I trust him to do the right thing for this city."

  "And what transpired between us last night had nothing to do with your sudden decision?"

  "Of course it did. Because after you left, I had an epiphany. I realized exactly how selfish I was being."

  "Selfish?"

  "Yeah. I was letting my idiotic feelings for you blind me from seeing what any asshole could. That you need to leave. You need to run, or fly, or whatever out of this city and don't look back. I don't care where you go, but I suggest a deserted island where you and your brother can kill each other or fuck each other or whatever you want to do without hurting innocent people. It just won't be here. Not if I have anything to say or do about it."

  "You cannot be serious."

  "Deathly. I will do everything in my considerable power to save my city from you and your psycho brother."

  "You're going to run me out of town on a rail?"

  "If needs be."

  His shoulders fall. "Joanna, you're not thinking clearly."

  "Don't you dare fucking patronize me," I snap. "I see things very clearly. You leave, your brother leaves. Simple math. Can you honestly say you've improved things around here? Or should we ask Brendan and the dozens who died on that bridge due to you?"

  "You're just being cruel now."

  I take a ste
p toward him, ice cold eyes boring into him. "Well, I've been taught by masters, babe. And unless you leave and leave now, I will school you too. Your job at the hospital? Gone. The few friends you have remaining? The things I can tell them. And, if I have to, the entire damn world will hear just how warped the Ambrose Brothers are. I will spill to any reporter who will listen the tale of a certain respected doctor who moonlights as a superhero and his twin brother whose twisted love resulted in a triple digit death count. The only reason I haven't yet is out of respect for Lexie and Brendan. But that respect extends only so far. So before I blow up your life, I suggest you go home and type up a letter of registration, pack your bags, and pick an island. You can show yourself out."

  I turn on my heel again and walk to the door until his voice stops me. "Don't do this, Joanna. It's…beneath you. We need to work together. Now more than ever. I'm sorry I hurt you. I'm sorry. I--"

  I twirl back around. "You didn't hurt me, Jem. It takes a hell of a lot more than some socially stunted, incestuous, second rate superhero to hurt me. What you did was knock some sense into me. Now I'm just returning the favor. Leave. Or I will crucify you."

  With one final glare, I stalk out of the living room like the evil queen in a fairy tale with a satisfied grin on my face without a glimpse back. Yet it slowly drops with each step as the weight of the situation starts stacking. I have to do this now. Him being on board doesn't make it easier. That man's just going to stand by and watch as his livelihood, his reputation, hell his life burns to ashes all for the greater good. And I'm the bitch who lights the match. And I always thought being a villain would be a hell of a lot more fun.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  To Shreds

  A week and a half and nothing. A week and a half of me ripping his brother to shreds in almost every conceivable way, and Jordan remains silent. He doesn't crawl out of his hole in any capacity. No notes, no telephone calls, not even flowers. At least there are no more attacks. He's probably too busy watching the soap opera taking place in my house and out in the world. I've been a right good diva, chewing up the scenery and spitting acid about Dr. Jem Ambrose to anyone who listens. Hospital board members have received several calls each where I lay out all my reservations about Jem's drug trial. That I've heard he's not following guidelines and protocol, that he's mismanaging his staff. I even faxed them information about one of his trials several years before where the drug caused brain aneurysms that left subjects blind. I even called the FDA to demand an investigation into his latest one. All that made its way to the press too.

  The diva really bared her fangs in the social scene. I attended two charity events, one to restore Pendergast Bridge and the other to support art in schools. Of course everyone wanted to know the story about the bombing and my hospital stay. I neither confirmed nor denied their theories, but I know they suspect the truth. King Tempest hasn't been seen since Brendan's death, and Lady Liberty was spotted in Independence fighting Harridan. She still won't return my calls. But in-between dodging and weaving the gossips, I threw in tirades about how worse our city's grown since the Triumvirate arrived. Most were in agreement with little persuasion necessary. And depending on the person, i.e. - those affiliated with the hospital, how unprofessional Jem's being, including the tidbit he's been inappropriate with male staff. The gossip swirled within hours as it always does.

  The biggest blow, the one that I was positive would bring Jordan out from hiding, was when I employed my PR firm to get the conversation about the causality of heroes and villains spinning nationwide. Almost every talking head and newspaper began condemning the property damage, the violence, the deaths associated with their battles, every head drumming home that if there were no heroes there would be fewer possibly no villains. I made sure they mentioned the Triumvirate, especially Lord Nightingale. The smear campaign cost a pretty penny but was damn effective. Today's polls show that 59% of Galilee citizens want the Triumvirate to decamp. And still nothing. Not a peep. I'm running out of ideas short of literally throwing acid in Jem's face or kicking him in the balls. Not that we've seen or spoken since that night. He calls, but like a good scorned woman, I don't return them. I just talk badly about him behind his back like a normal gal.

  So the charade continues. I'm short with my staff, I sneak glasses of "whiskey," I stare into space with a scowl. Anger used to fuel me, now it exhausts me. I almost want Cain to kidnap or kill me already, anything but this damn waiting and bile spewing. I don't know how Jem's coping with it all. I miss him so much. Talking to him, working with him, his smell, those penetrating eyes of his, the feel of his lips on mine. I've had more than a few X-Rated dreams the past few nights. When I do sleep. I get maybe four hours on a good night. I can quote all the infomercials.

  Oddly, I'm looking forward to my Ryder chat today more than the opening of the Thornton wing. The video chat music chimes just as I send Harry all the info Doris acquired on a rape last night. That's another thing getting me through this, focusing on plain old ordinary crimes. Cain isn't the only asshole in town who needs an ass whooping. I close my e-mail, and accept the call. Like all horrible things in life, seeing him gets easier each time I do it. I don't feel a damn thing when he pops on screen.

  "Hello, Joanna," Ryder says. "I was beginning to think you weren't going to call this week."

  "I've been busy. I'm here now. Besides, you already had a call this week."

  "Yes," he says with little enthusiasm. "Thank you for that."

  "I always keep my word, Ryder. Always. So, how is Grace? I haven't spoken to her since she tried to shoot me."

  "She is…" He grimaces and shakes his head.

  "That good, huh?" I fold my arms across my chest. "Well, what the hell did you expect? A super-max ain't exactly Rio, especially to someone like her. She didn't grow up hard like us. And she did help you murder a prison guard. Hell, I'm surprised she's lasted this long."

  "Are you attempting to get a rise out of me?"

  "No, just telling the truth. I mean, did the thought you two would get caught ever cross your minds? Do you feel any guilt for dragging her into your ridiculous vendetta?"

  "It was not ridiculous," he spews out.

  "Ryder, I had a front row seat. It was fucking ridiculous. 'You bested me, you think you're better than me, you think you can't be corrupted, I must destroy you, gurr, argh!' Anyway you dress it up with long winded speeches about superheroes as gods and balancing scales, when it came down to it, you were pissed he arrested you, and you had to punish him. End of story. If you had just broken out, and met Grace in Rio, neither of you would be behind bars now. You demolished the life of the one person you claim to love for next to nothing. For hubris." I lean back in my seat. "So, do you? Feel guilt? Are you even capable of it? Do you even love her?"

  "I love Grace with my entire heart and soul," he says in a hard tone.

  "Just keep telling yourself that, Jimmy, maybe it'll become true. You're a sociopath. You're incapable of empathy, and it's kind of a big requirement for love. Real love, true blue love, requires sacrifice. You would do anything, give anything for the other person, including your life if needs be. That is love, James."

  The villain glares at me for a few seconds. I don't know why I've wasted my breath. Talking about love to a sociopath is like trying to describe the color twelve. "I have no desire to continue this avenue of conversation."

  "So, what do you want to talk about? The weather you never get to experience?"

  "Any luck finding our friend the Emperor?" Ryder asks.

  "Not yet." I lower my arms. "Let me ask you something. Say Justice had moved somewhere like New Urbana or India, would you have followed him? Set up your reign of terror there?"

  "Most likely. Is that your plan? Make Cain someone else's nightmare? How mercenary of you."

  "Desperate times."

  He cocks an eyebrow, I think in approval. "Have the Triumvirate agreed with your logic? I suppose it is all just geography to them as well."

  "
Two down, one to go, but he seems dug in. I've turned the majority of the city against him, come close to ruining his personal life, but he just won't leave. He's starting to really piss me off." My eyes narrow. "What would you do?"

  "I assume killing him is off the table?" My eyes narrow to pinpoints. "Right. We all have our limits, I suppose." He considers the dilemma for a few seconds. "What it boils down to is blackmail, correct? Well, he does have one hell of a secret to exploit. Use it."

  "Expose him?"

  Ryder shrugs. "Remember what happened to Johnny Law when his secret identity was revealed? The press hounded him. He lost his job, his family, and then Helter Skelter resurfaced for payback and paralyzed him. Probably would have killed his family too if they hadn't been smart and run for the hills early on. But you know all of this. You just want what? My take on this drastic move?"

  "Other people could get hurt if I do it."

  "Of course they will. No man is an island. Of course I am preaching to the enlightened on that front. And you will be essentially destroying a life, possibly even signing his death warrant. Justin being a perfect example. But since we're being mercenary, what are one or two lives against all the innocent Gallileans you can save if they flee? You just have to ask yourself if you can carry the hero's damnation on your conscience forever. Would you like my approval or condemnation?"

  I sit stony still staring at him for a few seconds. "I have to do it, don't I?"

  "Doesn't mean you have to enjoy it, Joanna." He grins. "But it does make it far easier. It can actually be quite thrilling ripping someone to shreds, especially when they've wronged you. That power. Knowing you're hurting them more than they've hurt you. It can be quite cathartic."

  "This isn't personal. I'm not getting any satisfaction from it."

  "Keep telling yourself that, Joanna," he says with a grin.

  "I'm not," I insist.

  "Last time we spoke you were desperately trying to arrive at ways to aid your new friends, now you're talking about obliterating them. No one has that colossal an about face without personal feelings entering the equation. I mean, even when you discovered Justin's deception the thought of outing him never crossed your mind. So either a hero really wronged you, or you've come over to the dark side. Knowing what I do about you, I very very much doubt the latter. We recognize our own kind."