There’s a whooshing sound then movement above us from front to back, but it’s too dark for me to make out what it is until it’s right in front of the headlights. I know it’s a man, but with the fucking window I have to think about who and what. Not good. A second later, about ten feet in front of us, there’s another explosion. On instinct, I slam on the breaks and lose control of the car. We slam into the right wall at about fifteen miles an hour. I whack my head on the wheel, dazing myself. Everything becomes fuzzy except for the nausea and Lucy’s groans beside me.
As I’m attempting to focus, my door swings opens. A man in his twenties dressed all in black with a gun, utility belt with grenades, and a black bag around his torso unlatches my seatbelt and pulls me out of the car. He lays me on the gravel, and I’m still too out of it to move. I am aware of him looking into the car. “Yeah,” he says into his earpiece. “That was me. They crashed the car. I’ll bring the cop now.” He pauses, the nudges me with his foot. My eyes shut. “She’s out of it.” He chuckles. “Yeah, I’ll be careful.” He presses a button on his Bluetooth before he kneels down and lifts me like a bride. “You don’t look so tough.”
Good thing I know how to play possum. We lift off the ground and fly. It feels strange gliding through open air. Or that could be the concussion. I count to three before snapping my eyes open. He’s surprised, and that gives me a precious second to act. With one hand I grab the pin of the nearest grenade and with the other I stick my thumb into his eye until it pops. He howls in pain, dropping me. I fall about ten feet onto hard gravel, rolling on impact. Now there isn’t an inch of me that doesn’t hurt.
Blitzkrieg continues howling and flying. I groan and touch my bleeding knee. Shit. My hand is empty. I lost my grip on the pin. I push myself up, and start limping toward the car for the gun. Blitzkrieg roars like an animal and when I dare to glance back, I see he’s changing course and charging at me like a phantom bull. He’s too fast. My torn legs pump, but not fast enough. He’s just about on top of me when Lucy sits up, gun pointed right at me. “Drop!” she shouts. I do. Three gunshots ring out, hitting Blitzkrieg in the chest. He skids to the ground near me. Holy shit. The car door opens, and a trembling Lucy steps out of the car with the gun pointed at the groaning man. One more bullet ends that.
Lucy stares at the man expressionless, gun arm spastic and her other bent and against her chest. It takes effort but I slowly find my feet, walking over to her. I gently take the gun, but she barely notices. “It’s okay,” I whisper. I think she can’t hear me. She’s checked out, and rightly so. Wish I had the luxury. Instead, I ransack the corpse for grenades, gun, phone, and a black bag with more bombs. I’m zipping up the bag when I hear voices shouting back the way we came.
I take Lucy’s good hand, but she still won’t move, won’t take her eyes off the man she just killed. “Lucy, move!” I pull her away and she moves, walking behind me as I’m trying to run. She’s passed her breaking point. We keep moving but slower than we need to be. This isn’t good for either of us. The voices get closer.
When we reach the next junction, we can go straight or right. I lead her straight until I spot a little burrow off to the side which she can fit into. “Harry, follow this to Lucy, okay?” I whisper into the cell phone. “She’s in a hole near our car. She has a broken arm. I’m going to lead them away from her. Hurry.” I hand her the cell, but have to stick it in her pocket myself. I even have to put the gun in her hand, wrapping her fingers around it. “I don’t know if you can hear me, but if anyone but the police comes, you shoot them. I’m going to get help and bring them back. Just be quiet, okay?” I don’t want to leave her. She just saved my life, but I have to. Fuck, I have to.
I pull out Blitzkrieg’s spare gun, a grenade, and his cell, dialing Cam as I run back the way I came. I see the beams of two flashlights and men coming into focus. “Cam, it’s Jo. Trace this!” The phone goes into my pocket seconds before the men open fire at me. I pull the pin and lob a grenade at them. It explodes just as I turn down the tunnel, covering my ears. I pull out Blitzkrieg’s flashlight and keep running. On a good day I can run a mile and a half without stopping, but this is uphill on gravel and my body’s been through hell, so I’m about to fall after a quarter mile. A bullet whizzes by my head and I spin, returning fire. All I can see is the light from their flashlights coming closer. I’d toss another grenade, but the blast would roll up and incinerate me too.
“The other one’s gone! Go find her!” Alkaline shouts.
Shit. Nothing I can do. She has a gun. I keep running. My lungs are about to give out, but my leg beats them to it. My right leg buckles but I keep pressing on. I’m not going to make it. Then I see the next platform and push myself forward. I climb up the rickety ladder onto the dusty platform. Rats squeak and run from the light. I stop dead from fright. Psychos with acid don’t scare me as much as rats. I have to force myself up the rest of the way, my breath as sharp as glass in a broken window. At least the station sign is intact here. “Cam, I’m at the old Siegal Street station. Hurry.” There are two gunshots far off. Lucy? Did he kill her? Stop it. Keep going.
There’s a rusty metal gate with a padlock on it at the exit. I shoot the lock and push the gate apart. It squeals and barely moves, but I squeeze through just as a bullet ricochets off of it. The bag gets caught and I fall forward, losing my grip on the gun. I wiggle the bag off just as Alkaline runs up. My eyes immediately dart toward that white tube extended from his wrist. It’s actually a hollow bone attached to an internal sac of acid, like a snake’s venom sac but deadlier. I pick up the gun just as he takes aim. “Joanna, stop running!” he says, more chiding than angry.
As I’m turning to run, a liquid squirts from that bone. It sizzles the metal like a steak on a grill, some landing on my coat. The burning on my upper arm starts instantly and it takes a lot not to drop the flashlight. I run up the wooden ramp, shedding my coat and shooting twice. The bullets ricochet off the metal beams holding up the ceiling in the middle of the ramp, almost hitting me. “Joanna! I have this gun pointed right at your spine. You need to stop or I will paralyze you. Stop and drop your gun. Don’t make me do this! Please!”
Fuck! Fuck! No. Not fair. Not when I’m so close. I come to a standstill near one of the beams. The boarded-up exit is ten feet away. So fucking close. I feel like crying, but I just don’t have the energy. I let the pistol fall and turn around with my hands up, not easy as my burnt arm is covered in my blood. Ryder walks up, gun and acid pointed right at me. “Good girl.”
That’s when I see him. Just a blur and whoosh of wind. Finally.
Alkaline hears it too, instantly spinning around and firing the gun. Justice slams into him, and they break the metal beam like a toothpick. The roof shakes and cracks, tiles from the walls falling off. I hug the wall as they smack into each other and a huge chunk of ceiling falls. Dust and dirt fill the air, so thick I can barely see through it. Justice tosses him into the wall, roaring like a madman. The entire tunnel lurches. Tiles and chunks of cement fall on and around me. The place is disintegrating. “Justin!” I shriek. “Stop!”
He doesn’t listen. He tosses Alkaline through the boards at the end, and then runs him back in here, hitting the villain against the last of the load-bearing beams. That’s all it takes. The whole ceiling and room rumbles and crumbles, and there’s nowhere to run. I couldn’t make it even if I could move. Justice looks at the near-unconscious Alkaline, then at me. I can’t see his eyes under the mask, but the fact he quickly looks back at Alkaline tells me all I need to know. Revenge trumps my life.
A horrible pain shoots through the top of my head. I collapse to the ground as the tunnel topples around me. My city is swallowing me up. I’m dying. I’m lifted, transported at an incredible rate. Stomach, limbs, and brain all left behind a few seconds. I fall away from the light into the dark abyss of nothingness.
Twenty years too late. Hope they let me in.
***
Pain. This is how I realize I’m st
ill alive.
My head, my ribs, my legs, my face, my arm, my foot all throb in pain. The rest of me isn’t fairing much better. Slowly, I open my eyes. Crap. I’m in the hospital. I hate hospitals. There are tubes and sensors attached in some very intimate places hooked up to machines on either side of me. The room looks like a jungle with all the flowers. Harry’s asleep in the chair on my left, his head resting on the edge of my bed. Silly man still has his glasses on. I pet his soft hair and he stirs. He sits up, rubbing his eyes. It takes him a moment to realize I’m awake.
“Jo!” he says with relief.
“Hi,” I whisper.
He kisses me with gusto, but even that hurts. I wince and he pulls away. “Sorry. Sorry.”
I try to touch my lip to find the source of discomfort, but my upper arm flares with pain as I flex. “Ouch!” My arm is covered in bandages from shoulder to elbow.
“Your arm had a bad chemical burn. Third degree. There might be some scaring.”
Oh. Good thing I’m not vain. “What else?”
“Um, you have two cracked ribs but no internal bleeding, a nasty gash on your foot, a bruised jaw,” he sighs, “some first and second degree burns, countless cuts and bruises, and two concussions. One minor and one major.”
“Shit. Is there any good news?”
“You woke up,” he says, voice cracking.
I’m taken aback and a little scared by his response. “How—How long have I been out?”
“Just a day, but…they said if you didn’t wake up within forty-eight hours, the chances…” He shakes his head to expel the thought. “You have brain swelling.”
I squeeze his hand. “With my hard head? I’m shocked it even made a dent.” This garners a smile from us both, though his is strained. He kisses the palm of my hand and holds it up to his scratchy cheek. Then I remember. “Oh, God! Lucy! She—”
“She’s okay. She’s fine. We found her.”
“Is she okay?”
“Mild concussion and a broken arm. They sent her home this morning.”
“What happened?”
“I was just parking at the station when I got the call about the bomb. I wasn’t even halfway back when Justice came over the police band saying he was tracking you, but lost the signal at the outskirts of the Ward. Every roller was dispatched, and even Lord Nightingale from Independence showed up to help. The GPS on the phones didn’t work down there, and I only heard you half the time. We only pinpointed you when Justice heard the explosion. By the time we got down there, he was tending to you and Lucy.”
“What about Alkaline?”
“They’re still excavating the scene. It’s a mess.”
“You haven’t found him?” I’m surprised by the amount of fear in my voice.
“Jo, there’s a sinkhole on Siegel Street. It’s completely caved in on both sides of the station, and we combed the surrounding area for half a day. There is no way he survived. None. Justice barely got you out of there in time.”
“You’ll keep looking, right?”
“We will, but the city engineers don’t think we can get to the scene within a week. Not even he can survive without food or water for that long. Don’t worry.” He kisses my hand again. “I’m going to get the doctor, okay?”
I sigh when he leaves. Lucy’s okay, Alkaline’s probably dead, and I caught up on some much needed sleep. All in all not a bad day’s work. I close my eyes. I think maybe that bump on my head accessed my long-dormant optimistic side. When I get out of here maybe I’ll become a clown. Or these drugs they have me on just rock.
The door opens. Poking and prodding time. I open my eyes, and my stomach clenches. He looks terrible. Dark circles under his eyes, hair wild, even his skin has lost its glow. I want to jump out of this bed and throw my arms around him to make us both feel better. I suppress it. Justin makes no move to come closer. He stays by the door, just waiting for me to lead the way. I avert my eyes, giving him nothing.
“O’Hara told me you were awake,” he says. “How are you—”
“I’m fine,” I say quickly. “How’s Lucy?”
“She…um,” Justin says, voice quaking, “physically okay. Broken arm. Mentally, um, she hasn’t said a word since I found her.”
“She’ll be okay. It’ll just take time.” I bunch the covers in my hands, ringing them. Even this hurts. “She saved my life.”
“You saved hers.”
We don’t speak for a few gut-wrenching seconds, the only noise coming from my heavy breathing.
“Jo, I—”
“You’re sorry. I know you’re sorry. You don’t need to say it.”
“I wanted to tell you. A hundred million times I did. The words just wouldn’t come out. And then…I was just so scared of how’d you react. That I’d lose you, and that I could not take. You of all people should know what that’s like.”
I don’t respond for a few seconds, my brain working to find the right words. My supposed gift. “I get why you did what you did,” I say, still wringing the sheets with my hands. “I understand the logic of it, I do. You were scared of how I would react. You were scared I’d look down on you, not be able to get past it. That I needed protecting from the dark side of your life. My head gets that. It does. My heart…” I shake my head. “Nope.” I wipe the falling tears with my less damaged hand. “You didn’t trust me. You betrayed me every day by not trusting me when…” I stop the sob from escaping, and take a second to compose myself. “You were my best friend, my confidante, the man I’ve been in love with for twenty years. You were my world. You were my hero. And now…” I shake my head with a wry chuckle. “You let me think I was responsible for Rebecca’s death. You kept much needed information from me and the police about a man who just tried to kill me. You didn’t say a damn word as I bared my secrets to you, and then turned around and used them to make yourself feel better at my expense. And you chose revenge over my well-being. You broke my heart. And for that I don’t think I can ever forgive you.”
I finally look up at him. His eyes are as brimming with tears. He wipes the offenders away and hangs his head. “I never meant to hurt you.”
“I know,” I whisper. “But you did.”
He slowly nods. This is it and we both know it. We’ve lost each other. We’re broken. “Okay,” he whispers back. “Okay.” He takes a ragged breath and turns around. “Good-bye, Joanna.”
In a flash, he’s gone.
“Good-bye, rich boy.”
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Survivors
“Harry, did you remember to buy suntan lotion?”
When he doesn’t answer I walk out, or more accurately limp out of the bedroom in search of him. I find him in the living room, phone pressed to his ear and looking none too happy. “Can it wait until after I get back?” He listens, and then sighs. “I don’t have…fine. Be there when I can.” He slaps the phone shut.
“The office again, dear?”
“We just have to swing by on the way to the airport. It’ll take ten minutes, I promise.” He kisses my nose. “And I packed plenty of suntan lotion.” He kisses me again and walks into the bedroom.
Our first official trip together. Sandals, Jamaica, here we come. Sun, sand, and hopefully lots of sex. Paradise. I follow him into the bedroom to continue packing. I toss the books from my nightstand into the suitcase. As a rule I’m not much of a reader, but in my three conscious days at the hospital I managed to read every magazine ever published. Twice. Not that I plan on doing much reading in Jamaica, wink wink. I may look as if I’ve been to war but damned if I’ll let that stop me from enjoying a tropical island with my awesome boyfriend. I’ll just keep the blistering burn on my arm covered. Don’t want Harry or the other guests to vomit in the umbrella drinks.
V was kind enough to buy me some clothes while I was in the hospital since everything I own is nothing but ash. Nobody was killed, thank God, but all residents had to move out until it’s rebuilt to code. So I’m homeless, clothes less, and recove
ring from a coma. If ever there was a time for a vacation.
Loose ends first. When we arrive at the station, half the people nod to me with reverence and the other half come up and shake my hand. I could get used to being a hero. The squad room is back to its old self, quiet even. Cam, Mirabelle, and Kowalski aren’t at their desks, but the support staff smile when they see me. As Harry goes into his office to sign some incident reports and budget analysis, I plop down at my desk. Well, my old desk. I won’t be returning to Priority. When I’m cleared for duty, I’ll be working Vice. I’ve had enough death for the time being. Hookers and gambling are more my speed now.
Mirabelle comes in from the interview area, a bright smile forming when he sees me. “It’s the traitor!” We hug and I sit back down. “Thought you and the boss man would be sipping Mai Tai’s by now.”
“Cam needed him to sign a few things before we left.”
“Well, you’re looking good. How are you feeling?”
“A lot better. I don’t even need the pain pills unless I move my arm too much.”
“I’m sure the sun and lots of sweaty sex will help with that.”
I smack his arm. “Pig.”
He chuckles back. “What? Now you don’t have to sneak around in the nursery or locker room anymore.”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” I say with horror.
“Come on. We all knew, well at least part of the time. You kept looking at each other and blushing. It felt like we were back in high school.”
“And we thought we were being coy.”
“Well, I am a superior investigator.”
I nod in approval. “So, Harry refuses to tell me anything. How goes it here?”
“Clean-up mostly. We arrested the accomplice in the subway,” he says of the goon in the leather jacket. “He talked. Alkaline’s old Lieutenant Mike Spencer hired him to watch the Pendergast house. He’s been pretending to be paparazzi since the engagement party. He didn’t tell us anything we didn’t know. The abandoned station he was using was more helpful. We found blueprints of the Thornton house, the Pendergast house, and your apartment, along with surveillance photos of all of you. Still trying to track down the PI who took them. He also had all of your schedules, your financials, psych profiles, basically your whole lives. Our people are still trying to trace his money. This was a well funded revenge plot. Blitzkrieg’s fee is reported at close to fifty thousand dollars.”
Justice (The Galilee Falls Trilogy) Page 27
