Galilee Rising (The Galilee Falls Trilogy) Read online

  It infects me. "Excuse me, are you mad at me?"

  "Of course not," he says sharply, killing those words.

  I roll my eyes. "Jesus Christ, what the hell do you want from me, man?" I leap up and stalk toward him. "You want me to bear my soul to you? Share my innermost thoughts and fears? You want me to trust you?" I ask with a laugh. I try to meet his eyes but his head swivels to deflect. "You won't even look me in the eye. You don't even have the balls to tell me who you really are. Until you do, you're just another masked vigilante who uses my computer, and I occasionally have a sandwich with. You're keeping me on the outside, and though I do know and respect why, it makes trust hard. It's a two way fucking street, and you're still on the highway."

  "And you're not?" he asks, voice hard. "Have you told anyone what you do in here?"

  "Those who need to know do."

  "And you don't trust the others to understand."

  "Don't you turn this around on me! I'm not the one…" I snap my mouth shut. "You know what? I'm done with this conversation. Done."

  "Fine. As am I."

  "Good!"

  "Fine!" He lifts off the ground and flies away, taking the last word with him.

  Of all the…he has the nerve to…fuck him! He should thank me for keeping my trap shut not giving me shit. I swear all superheroes are nuts. Certifiable.

  I'm done. I'm spent. I need out of this fucking room. I've done enough for the betterment of humanity today. I shut off the lights and stomp up to the house, fuming. First I get chastised, again, for helping then I'm made to feel like shit for not shouting from the rooftops that I'm in league with heroes? I don't tell anyone to keep my ass safe, same as him. Until he rips that mask off, he just needs to keep his fucking mouth shut about trusting people.

  After brushing my teeth, I turn off the lights and get into bed again. No matter how hard I try, and I do try, my mind races a trillion miles an hour. Images from the day are replayed until I'm curled in the fetal position hugging my legs. Guess I'm not as strong as I thought. It just took awhile to sink in. I was shot at today. If I hadn't ducked when I did my brains would be splattered inside that car like a macabre painting. I've had front row seats to that horror show before. Fuck it. I open my eyes and turn on the TV, hoping the noise will drown out my thoughts.

  After fifteen minutes, I give up that dream as well. God, being sober sucks. If this were a year ago I'd be pouring Bourbon, popping a pill, or driving over to Harry's so he could screw the demons away. A year before that I'd call Justin and we'd talk or meet for late night pancakes at Nell's Diner. Now I know why he was always in the city at night when I needed him. I just thought he was working late. Suppose he was.

  Fucking superheroes. He could have told me. He should have told me. Even now a large part of me hasn't forgiven him for all the lies. I know the reasons in my head, but that doesn't mean the wound in my heart isn't still tender. How the hell are you supposed to trust a person who won't share such an important part of their life with you? A part of themselves? How can you even begin to build on that? No idea, but boy do I want to.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  Guardian Angel

  Of course I'm awakened all of two hours after I fall asleep by the ringing phone next to my head. So much for Jem, me, a beach, and nothing but a towel. This had better be life or death or heads will roll.

  "Hello?"

  "It's Tempest. We need you down at command."

  "What--" He hangs up. "Fuck."

  I toss on my robe and hustle downstairs. I expect to find the threesome in the command center, but the lights are off. Static from the radio fills the room, followed by Tempest's voice saying, "Guardian, come in. Repeat, Guardian come in. This is K.T., come in, over." I think I'm supposed to be Guardian? I've never used the comms unit on Doris, so it takes me a second to find the right button and headset. "Repeat, Guardian--"

  "Um, Guardian here," I say into the headset.

  "Good to have you, Guardian," Tempest says. "Sorry to wake you. We need an extra set of eyes to cover our six. We've located Boneshaker at the club Noir, but we have an estimated eleven accomplices with guns here. We're wirelessly patching into his security system now."

  "I don't know how to get that signal. I've never done this before."

  I hear a man, I think Nightingale, talking in the background then Liberty saying, "Jesus, you tell her," followed by static. I think I lost the connection. Shit! Where the hell is that manual? As I rifle through the drawer the static ends, and Nightingale says, "Guardian, come in. Here's how to do it." He gives me step-by-step instructions, which I manage to screw up more than once. I hate technology. Nothing is ever simple. All that matters is eventually the feed pops up on the monitors. We're in business.

  I count twelve cameras in the main room where waitresses and cleaning people sweep up booths and the dance floor. I've been to Noir. It's all blue neon lights and black walls. Looks dull in black and white with the house lights on. Another camera captures the hallway where more waitresses and beefy men with sidearm's walk to and fro. Yeah, that's not standard equipment for club bouncers. What really catches my eye is the screen where the cameras overlook a stairwell where two more guards stand outside a door.

  "What do you see, Guardian?" Tempest asks.

  "I count seventeen possible civilians, most in the main club with four or five in a hallway or storage areas. This is unconfirmed, but my best estimate is ten henchmen in the same areas and all carrying side arms. Hallway appears about fifty feet long with four doors along it."

  "What about Ramsey?" Tempest asks. Timothy Ramsey, A.K.A. Boneshaker, is infamous in Europe for crumbling whole villages and castles, including ones with sitting royalty inside them just trying to enjoy Christmas dinner. Since he's been in town, he's only robbed a bank, but last week sent a letter to the papers promising "a bloody big show" when we least expect it. He'll be kicking himself for waiting so damn long to keep that promise in about ten minutes time.

  "Not visible, but best guess is he's down in the basement. There are two armed guards standing watch there. Unknown how many people are inside the room."

  "Okay, guys," Tempest says, "take positions. Keep the comms channel open but the chatter to a minimum. Only break silence when absolutely necessary."

  "Affirmative," I say.

  "Positions," Tempest says. "Good hunting, people."

  I can imagine the three of them on a cold club rooftop huddled together, nodding at each other before flying silently to the entrances. They've done this hundreds of times but still must be nervous. Lord knows I was before every bust. Hell, my leg is spastic right now from the anticipation, and I'm miles away safe as houses.

  I hear the sound of wind whooshing over my headphones as they fly followed by dead silence. "Okay, Night," Tempest says, "the alarm."

  The screech of the alarm is faint over the headset. Showtime. On the monitors, the people inside the club jolt and glance up at the sound just as water starts falling from the sprinklers. The civilians seem frightened but the men with guns immediately go on guard, tensing up and moving their hands nearer to their guns. The smarter people start running for the exits but some are too stunned to move. The three henchmen in the back hallway grab their guns from the holsters while running toward the basement door. One of the guards by the mystery door pokes his head into the room then disappears inside as the hallway goons arrive to take over sentry duty. Boneshaker is so in there. I feel it in my…well bones.

  Thirty nail biting seconds pass as I watch all this. What the hell are they waiting for? "Guardian, civilians clear?" Tempest finally asks.

  "Majority. Most bogies are in the back hallway."

  "Then go-time people."

  BOOM!

  An explosion over my radio almost shatters my eardrums while on the monitor the roof caves onto the wet dance floor. Everyone inside jerks from the shock. The few people still inside leap away from the falling debris, some skidding in the water on their stomachs like otters. The hench
men in the hallway run toward the main room, guns up. Only three remain in the back. I hold my breath as Liberty, force field almost shimmering on my black and white monitor, zooms down from the hole. She throws two glowing orbs at the nearest men before they can get shots off. Nightingale glides in behind her, dodging and weaving the bullets coming his way. Like a bird of prey, he picks up one of the men by the collar only to toss him into a wall. Over the gunfire and still falling water I hear as the body hits, bones cracking. I grimace.

  As bullets bounce off Liberty's force field, and she zaps the offenders with energy blasts, Nightingale touches down between two men. With a few swift moves he disables them with strategic kicks and blows worthy of a kung fu master. Upper cut, roundhouse kick, yet he's so graceful, like a killer ballet dancer, I can't help but be impressed. When another man lunges at him from behind, I shout, "Night, six," and he immediately kicks behind, hitting the man in the stomach. The man crumbles.

  "Thank you," he mutters.

  "Guardian, hallway?" Tempest asks.

  I was so engrossed in the fight I forgot about him. I check the monitor. "Three, with one inside the office."

  Before I utter the last word, the door at the end of the hallway falls from its hinges, and Tempest appears on the other side with his leg raised. The two henchmen down the hall open fire, but Tempest spins out of sight to take cover outside. Guns raised, a second later the men advance with caution. Just as they reach the door, there's more crashing sounds over my comms as Tempest busts through the roof fist first behind the men. His feet don't even touch the ground as mid-air he turns at a right angle, flying at the goons, arms outstretched in a straight line. He smashes into the men before banging them into either side of the wall, knocking them out. I think I can hear bones break. Tempest lands beside the prostrate henchmen. "Team, status?" he asks.

  I glance at the dance floor feed. Nightingale stands over a bleeding man, giving him a swift punch to the face. "Last bogie down," Liberty says.

  "Hallway," Tempest orders. The others sprint toward the back as Tempest saunters down the hall. The last guard by the basement door visibly shakes. I would too. The Triumvirate congregate on either side of the stairwell. "Hey, you with the gun," Tempest calls. The guard trembles even harder. "You have a choice to make, sir. Throw us your gun then follow it up here, or we'll break all your fingers prying it from your hand. You have five seconds to decide." Without a moment's hesitation, the man tosses the gun then runs up the stairs fleeing to the open door down the hall. Smart minion.

  Tempest is the first down the stairs with Liberty at his heels and Nightingale close behind. The surveillance camera begins to quake, then I hear rumbling over the comms. It starts out light as if the wind were blowing, but by the time they reach the door, the entire building is swaying and crackling, including the narrow passage the team's in. Earthquake. Boneshaker, you bastard. The security cameras and plaster from the roof and walls shed to the ground. I've lost the feed from five, no six cameras. The one in the passage jerks so much I can barely make out Tempest kicking the basement door in. Immediately gunfire and shouting begin, but I can't make out the words. The last image I get before the camera dies is Nightingale's body jerking as multiple bullets burrow into the chest from what sounds like an Uzi, then a high-pitch shriek as a bullet hits his comms unit.

  "No!" I scream as I leap out of my seat.

  "Night is down," Tempest shouts over the gunfire.

  "They're getting away," Liberty says. "I'm going--"

  "Lib, wait--"

  Then nothing but static.

  Oh, shit.

  Oh, shit.

  What the hell am I supposed to do? What should I do?

  I stand trembling as the adrenaline overloads my system for the second time in twelve hours. Bile rises into my throat, but I choke it down. I can barely breathe. I can't think. Should I call the police? They're on their way already because of the alarm. Should I get into my car and drive over there? That's what I want to do. Bad. But it'd take fifteen minutes and by then the police, fire, and EMTs will be there, and I'd be in their way. Fuck. Fuck! There's nothing I can do. Nothing. I'm useless. "Useless!" I shout while kicking the chair. It skids until it hits the wall and topples. Useless.

  I pace around the room, breathing heavily but not getting any air in for a few seconds. I shake my hands to expel some of the energy, which helps for whatever reason before grabbing the other chair to sit. I press the comms button, and the static stops. "Team, come in." Static. "Team, this is Guardian. Please respond." Nothing. I pull up the CCTV footage from the nearest camera down the street from Noir. Shit. Not helpful to my peace of mind. I'm watching a damn disaster movie.

  The club is a wreck with parts of the brick walls and roof crumbling into bread crumbs while firemen and police brave entering the toppling structure. Another truck and ambulance stop in front, with two more police cruisers behind. I watch on one of the few remaining security cameras inside as the firemen search the debris and police tend to the still unconscious and cuffed henchmen. "Team, come in."

  Static.

  They can't be dead. This was nothing to them. They've taken down giant robots and stopped a fucking nuclear bomb. A few men with guns and a villain is a cakewalk. He just…I'm sure he's been shot a dozen times before and walked away without a scratch. Tonight will be no different. It has to be because I can't have just watched another person I care about die in front of my eyes. I hate this. I hate this so fucking much. "Team, come in!" I don't do helpless well. I couldn't do anything then, and I can't now. There has to be something I can do if I just think. Think! "Come in, please. Please, come on," I whisper to myself. I'm losing it. I can't do this again. He--

  "Guardian, do you copy?" Tempest asks over the radio.

  If I wasn't sitting I guarantee my ass would be splayed on the floor by now. Thank God. Thank you, God. I let out a ragged whimper and wipe the tears from my eyes before saying, "I'm here."

  "Status report. We've apprehended Boneshaker and are en route to the nearest police precinct. He's unconscious."

  "Are you okay?"

  "Well, we need showers after chasing him through a tunnel into the sewer but otherwise perfect. Status on Nightingale?"

  Shit. Motherfucking, goddamn, shitting shit. "Um, unknown. He-He was shot in the chest before the feed cut out," I say, voice quaking.

  "Nothing on comms?" Tempest asks.

  "No."

  "I'm sure he's fine," Tempest says, calm as can be. "Lib, go back and check on him."

  "Roger," she says.

  "I'm at the precinct now. Good job tonight. Couldn't have done it without you. Tempest, over and out."

  Now instead of static, there's nothing but silence. Bastard cut the connection. I fall back into the chair, mouth open in shock. That's it? That's all I get? I watched them…I thought they…they…I rip off the headset and stare at the security feed from down the street. He hasn't come out yet. What if he's buried under a literal ton of rubble, and they don't know he's there or can't get to him in time? I watch as EMTs check on the battered henchmen under the attentive eye of the police. I watch as a small crowd gathers outside while more police and ambulances arrive. I don't see Liberty arrive. I don't see Nightingale walk out on his own. I pull my legs to my chest and hug them. Come on…

  Some time passes as I just stare. Numb. Detectives, then press show up outside the club. The less hurt henchmen are carted away in squad cars and others leave in ambulances. Detectives mill around, attempting to piece together what happened. Eventually they disappear into the hallway. If he was injured, they would have wheeled him out by now. If he were dead, they'd leave him for CSI to work on. When CSI arrives I hug my legs tighter, resting my head on my knees. Come on, you bastard. Come on. Don't you do this to me. This is…I can't…I just sat here and watched as he--

  "Are you alright?"

  My head jerks up. A muck covered Liberty and dusty Nightingale stand at the entrance staring at me. "Yeah, you feel sick or some
thing?" Liberty asks.

  Fresh tears I've been holding back spring out. He's alive. He came back. Oh, thank you God. Thank you. "I--" is all I can get out. I can't let them see me cry. I wipe my eyes and start playing with the computer. "I'm fine. Tired," I say, voice shaking.

  "We were pretty awesome tonight, huh?" Liberty says. "Could have done without the trip to sewerville though. Can't wait to see the playback."

  "Right," I say.

  "Oh, you don't have to pull it up tonight. We'll review it later. Just wanted to check on you. You sounded freaked over the comms."

  "I'm fine," I say, still not looking at them. Go away tears. Fuck off.

  There's silence for some seconds, and out of the corner of my eye I spy Liberty mouthing something to Nightingale while nudging him with her elbow. He scowls and shakes his head. "Anyway," Liberty says cheerfully, "I am in dire need of ten showers. I'll leave you two to wrap things up if you don't mind. Thanks for all your help tonight. Ciao!" she calls, flying away.

  I half expect Nightingale to follow suit, but he doesn't move from the passage. He glances at the exit, at me, at the exit again, not sure what to do next. When he decides, he clears his throat and moves toward me. "We, um, just need to add a few notes to the Boneshaker file." He brushes past me to pick up the overturned chair. "Write an incident report and whatnot." He sits in the chair far enough away from me to realize he's uncomfortable. "If-If you're too tired I can--"

  "I'm fine," I snap. "Just tell me what to do."

  He's quiet for a few seconds, then says, "Are you still angry at me for--"

  My mouth drops open, and my gaze whips over to him. "Am I angry at you? I-I-I'm pissed to fuck!" I leap up, eyes bugging out of my head I'm sure. "You assholes woke me up in the middle of the night to have me watch as-as-as you were shot at, then buried in rubble by a fucking psychopath! I-I had to sit here, in this fucking room miles away as you took half a dozen bullets to the chest right in front of my goddamn eyes! I thought you were…" I snap my mouth shut, turning away from him. "Do you have any idea what it's like to watch someone you care about die and not be able to stop it? Because I have firsthand experience, and it's…" Shit, I can't stop the stupid damn tears this time. I violently wipe the offenders away.