When the eggs are done, I sit beside him at the dining room table. He smiles when I hand him the eggs. “Thank you.”
“So, anything catch your fancy, yet?” I ask with a mouth full of eggs.
“Nothing I didn’t already know. Have you fed the villains’ photos into Doris’ CCTV analysis program yet?”
“One of the first things I did,” I say. “But these are seasoned criminals. They know to disguise themselves. I also had Doris cull all prior police reports to generate a list of past accomplices. It will save the police time and hassle. I sent it last night.”
“So, as of right now, we have what?”
“A giant fucking mess?”
He flashes another smile. “Besides that.”
“The guards,” I suggest. “All the guys in Super Max are on my payroll. I know them. I can reach out.”
“I spoke to the two on duty, Santiago and Kemp. When I pressed them about the payoffs, they did admit to accepting money from you. And I did believe them when they stressed they were not involved in the escape.” He shovels his eggs into his mouth. “I overheard someone tell the Warden that the other eight with Max access were being pulled in for interviews by GFPD right now.”
“I’m surprised you’re not sitting in.”
“I trust them to do their jobs. Besides, I thought you needed groceries. And I should put in an appearance at the hospital.”
“You might add shower and shave to your To Do list there, Ambrose. As a member of the hospital board, I have to comment that having our star neurologist looking like a bum is bad for business.”
“My apologies to the board,” he says with an undercurrent of anger. “I’ve simply been…busy.”
“You have to take care of yourself, Jem.”
He sets the plate on the table. “And here I thought you didn’t care. I do believe those very words left your mouth whilst you were screaming at me on the street before your date.”
Oh, for fuck’s sake. “It wasn’t a date, okay? He wants to partner on a worldwide foundation that helps people whose lives have been affected by supers. Rebuilding, medical expenses, even therapy for powered and civilians alike. We’re calling it The Guardian Society.”
His shoulders slump a little. That took the wind from his sails. “Oh.”
Why the hell do I suddenly feel guilty? Shit. Shit. Looking at him, so dejected and weighed down by everything, including my perceived betrayal, I have the strongest urge to leap onto his lap and hug him until all the tension and pain evaporates. I want to lead him into the bathroom, climb into the shower, and wash all the grime away. Slip into bed and sleep for twelve hours in each other’s arms. Because this pathetic, angry creature next to me is my creation. No matter how justified I may be, I’m the source of all his misery, the misery now twisting my insides and breaking my resolve not to follow my instincts. Fuck.
I fall back in my chair with a sigh. “Maybe we shouldn’t do this.”
“What?”
“Work together. At least in person. Hell, maybe at all. I look at you and I just want to…” Kiss you. “Slap you. Still. I don’t know if we can divorce the personal bullshit from the mission. And his mission is too damn important for distractions.”
His shoulders slump all the way to China. “Whatever you want.” He rises from the chair. “I won’t contact you in any form unless it’s absolutely required. I trust that you’ll share any pertinent information you uncover with me via Doris.”
“Of course.”
“Then I have things to attend to,” he says, striding toward the door. His head may be held high but those shoulders and ice in his words give away the pain.
My stomach, hell my heart, clenches again. Fuck. “Jem…” Hand still on the door handle, he spins around, face tight as he struggles to hold in his emotions. “I…none of this is to hurt you. I don’t…I don’t want to hurt you. Truly. It’s just…it hurts me to be around you.”
“I know,” he all but whispers. “And I’m not…” He gazes up at the ceiling as the cracks begin to form across his face’s defenses. Ripples of torment move across his forehead, his eyes, his cheeks, finally to his open lips. “This isn’t your fault. It’s mine. What happened, all of it, is my fault. And I deserve every moment of the pain I’m experiencing. You don’t. And I don’t want to cause you another millisecond of anything but joy. But…” He pauses to reign in his emotions, and failing judging from the tremors across his face. “I don’t know how not to have you in my life. Every cell, every single one, still craves you. I miss you every minute of every hour. So much so I almost wish I’d never met you, because then I’d never know what I’m missing. Because you showed me that existing isn’t enough. And without you, that’s all I’m doing. And will do. So though I don’t want to hurt you…I don’t know if I’m strong enough to not have you in my existence in whatever capacity I can get you. But I’ll try. Because I love you. I love you, Joanna. And I know a part of you still loves me. Even if you won’t admit it to yourself.” His jaw clenches. “Contact me if you uncover anything in the investigation. And stick to the protocol. Because if anything happens to you…you’re taking me with you.” Somehow he manages a small, aching smile before gazing down at the floor. “I love you. Bye.”
He opens the door and steps out. When it shuts I let out the breath I’d been holding since his proclamation in a ragged spurt. Goddamn it. Fuck. Fuck. Why do I get the sense I’ve managed to do what over a dozen supervillains have tried and failed to do. Defeat Jem Ambrose. Knocked him down so he hasn’t the strength to get back up. Love. The strongest damn force in this universe, bar none. Embrace it at your own peril.
I don’t think I’ll ever escape its clutches. Maybe I don’t want to.
CHAPTER NINE
The Radioactive Man
He’s dead. I can’t believe he’s…dead.
I only met him once in person. The day after Ryder was sent to Super Max, we met at a coffee shop a block from the precinct back when I was still a cop. He was the second guard to accept my offer. My bribe. A payoff every month for the man to just do his job. To keep that psychopath in his cage with no way out. James Ryder used money, charm, and old connections to escape the first time. I did everything in my power to make sure there wouldn’t be a second. I failed. He’s out, David Garr is dead, and my best, once again, proves not to be enough. Nothing is ever enough.
The police found his body at his home in Lewiston just outside the city. He lived alone after his divorce, both kids in college, only a cat to keep him company. The cat is fine. Garr was tied to a dining room chair with both his kneecaps blown out, three fingers broken all before his assailant or assailants shot him in the head right in his own dining room. All very professional. The local ME puts the time of death from 2-4 AM the morning of the escape. They tortured him for the codes then stole his keys. He wasn’t due into work or anywhere else for two days. Twenty-two years on the job. Three commendations. Poor bastard.
It’s going to take all day to process his house for prints, fibers, trace evidence, but if this was the same group I doubt they left any. Ditto with the neighborhood canvass. The mercs attacked Garr in the middle of the night, so witnesses would be few and far between. One lead. The guards were our one fucking good lead and now it’s gone. A man is dead and a shit ton of others will be close behind whenever these psycho fucks implement their grand master plan. And I don’t have a damn clue what else I can do. Which is driving me fucking crazy. Stuck in a stuffy, grungy faux apartment like a prisoner staring at a computer screen for seven hours straight is driving me batty. The killers are free and I’m a prisoner. So fucking unfair.
I walk into the equally nasty bedroom and plop onto the bed. Maybe a nap will…fuck. When I close my eyes, it’s as if I’m transported back seven hours with my ex declaring his eternal love as the weight of his words threaten to flatten him dead with me right along with him. Nope. My eyes fly open, but my second attempt garners the same trip back to hell. Same with the third, fo
urth, and fifth. Fuck. I grab a pillow and shriek, “Fuck!” into it. That’s a little better. What I need is a damn drink. Why didn’t I—
My cell phone rings in the living room. I picked up a GPS free pre-paid at the bodega and texted Jem, Harry, V, Shannon, and Bennett so they could reach me at this new number but to delete the text and tell no one else I’d been in contact. I debated adding Bennett to the list, but after last night’s theatrics figured he’d want to know I was alright. Seems a text wasn’t enough.
“Hello, Mr. Stone.”
“Miss Daniels,” he says back. “That’s what you’re called in my phone anyway. Miss Jackie Daniels in honor of what you were drinking the night you ravished me.”
“How sentimental of you.”
“I’m actually quite enjoying all this cloak and dagger business. Secret calls, aliases, it’s fun.”
“Trust me, it gets real old real fast. Especially when you’re the one stuck inside a depressing hotel room with only crap TV and police reports to keep you company.”
“Say the word and Miss Daniels can find herself on a sunny, sandy beach with a gorgeous billionaire providing her multiple orgasms.”
“Does the billionaire have to be you?” I quip.
“You wound me, Miss Daniels,” he says playfully. “To my very core.”
I chuckle. It feels good to do that. “A thousand apologies.”
“So truly, all kidding aside, how are you? I’ve been worried,” he says, voice softening.
“I’m…safe. Or as safe as I can be.”
“And how goes the investigation? I’ve been keeping current with the news coverage. Sounds as if there’s been no progress.”
“What makes you think I’m involved in the investigation?”
“I simply assumed. Why else would you stay, hell risk your life, if you didn’t think you could help?”
“Aren’t you the clever one?”
“Brains, looks, and I’m hung like a donkey. I’m damn near perfect if I do say so myself.”
“We can add humble to your list of attributes as well.”
“If you got it, flaunt it, gorgeous.” He pauses. “You didn’t answer my question though. How goes the investigation? The news made it sound like commandos stormed the prison.”
“It wasn’t as dramatic as that. It was actually very professional.”
“So no leads?”
I raise my eyebrow. “Why are you so curious?”
“Just living vicariously through you, Miss Daniels. I’m a thrill junkie dying for a fix. You of all people should know how that is. Not to mention I am worried about my business partner and dare I say friend. Because I do consider you a friend, Miss Daniels.”
“You sure you want to be my friend? The body count in that category is fairly high.”
“You’re worth the risk, gorgeous.” He’s silent again. “Please answer my question, okay? Are you in danger?”
“I’m being cautious. No one knows where I am. I’m not even allowed to go outside. Just me, these four walls, and my thoughts.”
“That sounds like hell.”
“Close. Plus I had this…fight with Jem that just…I’m the injured party here. I’m the wronged one. He betrayed me. But every time I talk to or see him, I just want to beg his forgiveness. And I’m stuck in this shitty apartment, already frustrated to fuck because there are no leads, and now I’m beating myself up for destroying the love of my life. I’m just…I need a damn drink.”
“Don’t you dare,” he orders. “You’re better than that. You’re stronger than that. He’s not worth it. He’s a dishonest, passive aggressive fool who all but destroyed you, and it sounds as if he wants to finish the job with emotional blackmail. Don’t let him. Go to a meeting. Go exercise. Go to a shooting range. Beat the hell out of a criminal. Channel your rage into something constructive. Make the misery count for something.”
“What happened to ‘I don’t lecture?’?” I ask.
“That was before we were friends. Business partners.”
“You just don’t want to have to do all the work on the Society, you selfish bastard you,” I say playfully.
“I may be a selfish bastard, but it doesn’t make it any less true,” he points out. “Oh. I’m sorry, Ms. Daniels, I have a call coming in I need to take. I’ll call you later. Promise me you won’t drink. Promise.”
“I promise.”
“Thank you. Talk to you later, gorgeous.”
“Bye, playboy.” I hang up with a sigh. He just had to make me promise.
Channel the misery. I’ve been doing that since childhood, one would think it’d be easy by now. The infrastructure should already be in place. It’s just there’s so much misery right now, a Biblical flood, its overwhelmed the channels. Justin, Jem, the dead ends, and poor David Garr, my well runneth over enough to cover the whole planet. I have to start rebuilding all over again. But not in here. I’ll go to a meeting. Misery, company, horrors people have endured that put mine to shame here I come. Fucking promises.
After looking up meetings, I slap on my wig, glasses, and hoodie. Doesn’t get more anonymous than this. The next meeting is five stops on the Metro. Bad choice of transport. Stuck in a metal tube with the threat of widespread violence hanging over everyone’s heads, not fun. The tension’s as strong as the usual B.O. I hate the city when it’s like this. Paranoid. Uneasy. One wrong word, one quick motion, and it sparks the tinderbox that can burn down a whole city. I keep my head down and pretend to listen to my iPod. I—
My cell phone vibrates. I’m so goddamn popular all of a sudden. I check the display. Harry. I have the feeling I’m not going to enjoy this call. The subway doors open and I step into the almost empty DeConnick Street Station and sit on the bench. “Hello, Harry.”
“Why didn’t you tell me you were bribing Ryder’s guards?” Harry whispers.
Knew it. This call’s gonna suck. “Because it’s a crime? Because it’s none of your business? And I resent the word ‘bribe.’ That implies I was getting them to do something they weren’t meant to. What I did was more…insurance.”
“Well, it looks like a damn bribe,” Harry hisses. “And you were communicating with Ryder. Weekly.”
“How—”
“Moonlight. And it’s a damn good thing he said something, otherwise we would be having this conversation at the station. But I can only protect you so damn much. The Feds are involved, and they are asking questions. A man is dead, Jo! One you were engaged in illegal activities with!”
Fuck. I can’t do this with him. Not now. Only one way to get rid of a cop. “Then perhaps you should be speaking to my lawyer, Martin Ferdman. And if you accuse any of the guards of accepting an alleged bribe, then a swarm of attorneys will descend on the GFPD like the plague. We had nothing to do with the break-out, and I have nothing more to say on the subject. I’m hanging up, Harry. Bye.”
I end the call. Fuck. Fuck! This is not good. At all. I could be in serious trouble. Harry’ll shield me as much as he can, but the truth is I have committed a crime. The guards’ll lose their jobs at the very least. I planned for that contingency though. Pendergast is always hiring loyal souls. Still. I might want to talk to Martin. I have to call information for his number just as a train comes and goes. I make an appointment with his assistant for tomorrow morning. If I get hauled in before that, he’s on notice. The guards know his number too. If it gets bad, they’ll call him. I hope. If it gets bad…fuck. I sigh. How the fuck can it get any worse? Maybe the guy in the hood standing by the stairwell plans to rape me. He has been hanging around since I got off. Too tall and wide to be Jem. Luckily the train screeches into the station, and I hurry on. So does the man, but he keeps his back to me. He doesn’t turn around once. He also doesn’t move to get off the train when I do. Jesus, I’m as paranoid as everyone else in this city. The two times I glance back on my way to Trinity Church, a two-story former store by the looks of it, now a house of God, the man’s not there.
The meeting has alr
eady begun. A decent turn-out, about a dozen people from ages twenty to eighty, some in suits but most in hoodies and jeans like me. I take a seat toward the middle of the small space as the group leader pontificates on the steps about how brave we all are to be here. I can recite this speech verbatim by now. Yet I still come. I have no idea why this works, but it does. Maybe it’s the visual proof I’m not the only one struggling. Maybe it’s the fact I decide to attend that cements in my subconscious I’m dedicated to my sobriety. Maybe they just put something in the coffee. I don’t care. All that matters is it works for me.
I’m not one for sharing though. It’s hard to be anonymous when your face has been plastered on every newspaper around the world more than twice. I give mad props to everyone who has the guts to get up there and bare their soul, air their dirty laundry. The rapes, the abusive parents, their own crimes. Such damage. A vicious cycle we’re all hoping to break. I—
Motherfucker.
The thing about paranoia is sometimes they are out to get you. In the giant mirrored cross at the front of the church, I see the hooded man from the subway take a seat off to the side in the back. He’s added an Independence Eagles cap to his disguise and keeps his head down. Fuck. One of Ryder’s goons? Just a garden variety nutto? Thank Christ I brought my gu—
My stalker glances up and my stomach, my lungs, hell my whole body locks up tighter than a boa constrictor’s grip. Not from nerves but from pure goddamn rage. I stare straight ahead at the twentyish speaker but suddenly can’t hear her words. All I can hear is my pounding heart and deep, ragged breaths. Motherfucking, cocksucking prick. I ball my hands into fists, digging my nails into my palms to quell the fury. To stop myself from giving into my overwhelming impulse to use those fists against his face. At this moment in time all I want to hear is the crack of his nose as I break it. To rake my fingernails down his cheeks. To watch as the blood gushes down his beautiful face. To spit on it. But because life is unfair, five minutes later he’d be fully healed and I’d be under arrest for assault. How the hell did he even find me? Only—Jem. Of course. Bosom buddies. Tag-team stalking brothers in arms. Bastards. This is supposed to be anonymous for a reason. A safe haven to share our worst without fear of judgment. Another violation of trust. What am I going to do? They cannot keep doing this to me. What the hell can I do?
Galilee Falls Trilogy (Book 3): Fall of Heroes Page 12
