Galilee Falls Trilogy (Book 3): Fall of Heroes Read online

  With the kitchen and living room, I barely fill two boxes. The Moonlight room fills three. All the files, the computer equipment, the maps, I take it all. Jem doesn’t get to profit from his crimes. I did fine on my own before. Guardian lives on as a solo act. Captain Moonlight is a lone wolf from now on.

  The exercise room gets raided too, especially the secret compartment filled with our toys. Guns, MACE, batons, handcuffs, everything a superhero needs to fight crime. I take all the stuff I brought from the Justice lair, about half the arsenal. I have no immediate plans to use any of it but may need it in the future. And I never want to set foot in this apartment again.

  The bedroom takes the longest. I have so many damn clothes. Isolde, my personal shopper, insists I don a new outfit at every public appearance. That’s ending for sure. I am so going to become the recluse I’ve always wanted to be. No need to maintain the pristine Pendergast legacy through charity and business events. I actually run out of boxes and have to throw my designer duds into black trash bags. Isolde would faint if she saw me do this to my Chanel suits. Sorry, CoCo.

  I’m stuffing the last of my underwear into the bag when the front door shuts in the other room. I stand stone still like a burglar about to get caught by the home’s owner. Goddamn it. Five minutes. I just needed five more minutes. You couldn’t give me that?

  “Jo-Joanna?” Jem calls.

  He steps into our-his bedroom a few seconds later, dressed in his work clothes, black slacks, white buttoned up shirt, and black silk tie. He went to work. Life implodes and he goes to work. A small part of me expected, okay wanted him to burst into my hotel room or meeting demanding to see me. Begging for a chance to explain himself. To fight for me. I’ll bet he called Justin on the elevator ride down then went straight to the airport. Came here, caught a few Zzzs, then was on time to his lab where he cured Ebola. Like it was just another day. Asshole.

  “Good day at the office, dear?” I ask snidely.

  “Wh-What are you doing?” he asks.

  “Some great detective you are.”

  “You’re moving out?”

  “That is what happens when people who co-habitate break up. It was your place first, so…” I tie up the bag. “I’m almost done here.”

  He gazes around the room, mouth agape. “Joanna, this is…you-you were just going to leave without even talking to me?”

  “We said everything we needed to last night.” I snap open the next trash bag. “And if it were up to me, we’d never utter another word to each other ever again.” I turn my back on him to start on the last drawer. “Let’s start now.”

  He waits several seconds, several heavy, cringe worthy seconds, before working up the nerve to say, “He came to us broken beyond measure, Joanna. He’d lost the woman and child he loved. He lost his hand. The whole of the world knew who he was. His life was in danger. Worse, the lives of those he loved were in danger. He’d placed a target on your back for every criminal in the world to take a shot at. So the man left everything he loved behind. His family, his legacy, his home, his friends, you. He gave up everything for you, Jo. And-And-And he wanted to reach out, he did, but the world had you under a microscope. One slip and the planet would realize he was alive.”

  “So he let me implode because he didn’t trust my acting skills?” I snap.

  “He did it because he knew how strong you are. You’re a survivor, Joanna. He knew you would come out the other end stronger than ever. And was he wrong?” I keep my mouth shut. “What he did, he did for you. To keep you safe. He knew if you ever found out he’d lied that there was a chance you would hate him forever, but at least you’d be alive.”

  “Fine. Cruel to be kind. Got it.” I tie the bag and spin around, giving him the full force of my glare. “And what’s your excuse for betraying me?”

  “A promise to a friend. To a brother in arms. All of this was set in motion before I ever met you, Joanna.”

  “And after? After you met me? You told me you loved me? I almost died fighting your psycho brother? We got engaged? Your promise to him was more important than me?”

  “No!” he gasps desperately. Jem bridges the gap between us, stopping a mere foot from me. “I love you. I would rather cut off my own arms than cause you an instant of pain. I love you more than life itself. You are my life. When I came to this city, I never anticipated…that you could love me as well. Not even in my wildest dreams could I have envisioned how happy you would make me. But…he was always there, Joanna. You still loved him. You still love him. And…I know I can’t compete. I could barely compete with the memory let alone the man in the flesh. So the God’s honest truth is I didn’t tell you to protect him, not fully, I didn’t tell you to protect myself. Because I feared the moment you realized he was alive, you’d go running back to him. Your soul mate. And I’d lose you.”

  “So it’s worse than I thought,” I say, doing my best to stop my voice from trembling. I will not fall apart. Not in front of him. I tap into the boiling anger beneath the sadness. “You lied to me day in and day out, you let me torture myself with guilt because…you didn’t trust me.”

  “That’s not—”

  “You didn’t trust in us. When I trusted you with everything. My heart, my soul, my life. Because yeah, Justin may have been my soul mate, but I thought you were the love of my life. You should have trusted in that. Because you didn’t and look where it got you. You lost my trust, you lost my heart, you lost me.” I lift up my two trash bags, scowl tightening. “The movers will be here tomorrow for the boxes.” I side step him and start toward the door.

  “No,” he says behind me, “no!” Jem moves in front of me, eyes doubling in size, trying to catch mine. “It was never you I didn’t trust. It was me. It was all me. I was selfish. I wanted you all to myself. All my life, everything I loved was ripped from me. Uma, Brendan, Lexie, Jordan. I was terrified I’d lose you as well. I’m only human, Joanna. I’m not perfect. I made one mistake for mostly the right reasons. Please do not throw everything we mean to each other, everything we will mean to each other in the future away because of one mistake. This, us is too important. And you know it. You sense it even now. We clawed through hell to find one another. And until the day I draw my last breath, I will do everything in my power to make this up to you. To prove to you I am worthy of your love and trust.”

  Goddamn it. Be it his words, those pleading heartbroken eyes, or the pure belief dripping from each syllable, my resolve wavers. Because love cannot be switched off like a light. It can’t. I still love him. I do. Just like Justin, a part of me will probably love him until the day I die.

  Fuck love.

  I finally meet his tear rimmed eyes with my cold as ice gaze. “I screwed Bennett Stone last night,” I say matter-of-factly.

  His face contorts in agony, like I’ve just physically stabbed him. “What…?” he asks breathlessly.

  “Last night. After I kicked you out. We met in the bar, I brought him upstairs to my room, and fucked him.”

  He stares at me as if I were a stranger. “Why…why would you do that?”

  “Besides the fact he’s handsome, funny, and uncomplicated? This,” I hiss. “To put a period at the end of our sentence. So there would be no going back. So don’t waste your time or energy. We’re done. Done.” I turn my back on him again and start walking.

  Just keep going. Just keep…

  “Don’t do this,” he pleads, voice brittle. “Don’t do this to me, and please don’t do this to yourself. Do not punish yourself for my mistakes. You’re better than that. You’re stronger than that.”

  I scoff. “Now you have faith in me.”

  “I’ve always had faith in you. And I always will. Just as I’ll always have faith in us.”

  “Like you had faith in your brother?” I stop walking and pause. “Faith is for fools. I should know.” I look back at him with a cruel smile. “I put my faith in you.” I stare straight ahead again, and I walk out the door with my head held high. Not a good act
or my ass.

  Not the doorman, not the cabbie, not the man at the liquor store ask me if I’m alright. If I need help. Not a one sees through my façade. But the moment me, my suitcase, trash bags, and bottle of booze hear the door of my bland, stale apartment shut, my legs suddenly give out and I cannot breathe. A panic attack. I haven’t had a panic attack since that horrific minute when I thought Jem died. That I’d lost the love of my life. Because he is. He is the love of my life. He is and he’s gone. We were supposed to get married today. We were supposed to get married and…

  I’m beginning to see spots. I can’t breathe. I can’t breathe. Jem calmed me down the last two times. I place my hand over my racing heartbeat and try to concentrate on drawing in breath in time to it. It’ll be okay. It’ll be okay. Just breathe. Breathe!

  I gasp, but the sobs make it just as difficult to draw breath as the panic. Because I have nothing left. Not hope, not faith, not even the memories. Tainted. They’re all tainted. All that remains is me and the pain. I may as well be back on that damn bridge. No, it’s worse. Because I’ve seen the light, and now I’m back in the darkness without a way to find my way back. There is no way back. Love has ruined more lives than hate ever could. I should have learned my lesson the first time.

  Only a fool has hope in this hopeless world.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  The Lost Girl

  Strong.

  All my life, the one word always used to describe me is “strong.” That or bitch, but if you’re a woman those two words are synonymous. I do have a strong personality. I am who I am, and I make no bones about it. With few exceptions, I truly don’t give a crap if someone doesn’t like me. If a person says or does something I don’t like, I’m damn well going to say or do something about it. I can take a punch and give as good as I get. Growing up in Diablo’s Ward with the abusive alcoholic mother doesn’t leave a little girl much choice but to be strong. To survive. But it’s always been fake it ‘til I made it. More often than not there wasn’t an ounce of fight or strength in me, but I couldn’t allow anyone to know that or I’d be dead. Literally. But the well is dry. Even the fumes have evaporated. The one good thing about losing everything and everyone is that when you implode, there’s no collateral damage. Score one for freedom.

  I don’t leave my shit corporate apartment for a week. Not because I love the place. It doesn’t have a lick of personality. Beige walls, factory produced artwork of flowers and cityscapes, cheap pots and pans, easy to assemble furniture as comfortable as granite. But it does have a television and a grocery/liquor store that delivers nearby. What more could a depressed alcoholic ask for?

  Most of the past week is a blur, which means the booze did its job. I remember watching tons of reality television and true crime shows. I remember throwing up. A lot. And sleeping. All the slumber I’ve missed through the years due to stress and a mountain of other obligations has been made up for with change. With my cell phone off, the land line off the hook, and computer in one of the few unpacked boxes, I’ve been on my own little desolate island. Just me, Jack Daniels, and Captain Morgan. A threesome. A triumvirate. Trio of assholes is more like it. Fuck him. Fuck them all.

  On day six, at least I think it’s day six, my coma’s interrupted by a woman calling my name, followed by a half dozen expletives. Oh God, my head. The bottle of aspirin is half empty, but I dry swallow four just as the interloper steps into my bedroom. “Jesus Fucking Christ, Jo. What the hell?”

  My cousin Veronica stands in the doorway, pretty mouth agape at the sight of me. Okay, not just me. I was three drinks in when the maid arrived yesterday and I wouldn’t let her in. No doubt V’s seen all the take-away cartons, empty bottles, food stains, dirty clothes, and half full boxes with their former contents strewn around. I meant to hire someone to take the boxes to a storage unit but that never happened. Hell, using soap barely happened.

  “How’d you get in here?” I ask.

  “Shannon told me where you were and called the concierge to let me up. She was worried about you. Apparently with good reason. So back to the original question: what the hell, Jo? I’m away for a week and you fucking implode?”

  “Yes, I timed the total collapse of my life for the one week you’re away just to stick it to you. I’m an evil bitch. Fuck off.” I pull the covers over my head. Jesus, they reek of sweat and farts. Really should have used fucking soap.

  V snatches the covers completely off the bed, leaving me exposed. “Get up.”

  “Bitch!” I snap.

  “You’re going to take a shower, shampoo your hair because you could cook French fries in all that grease, get dressed, and while you’re doing that, I’ll call your sponsor to meet us at AA.”

  “I’m not going to a fucking meeting, V. I’m not going to sit around the most miserable people on the planet as they bare their souls like anyone else gives a shit. Because they don’t. Not really. Even the best humanity supposedly has to offer are just cruel, selfish, deluded monsters. And I want nothing to do with them. Any of them. Or you. So fuck off.” I grab the other pillow, press it to the side of my face, and close my eyes. “I mean it. Leave or I’ll call the police.”

  There’s several seconds of silence before she says, “You do know who you just sounded like right then, right? Aunt Maeve redux.”

  “Well, maybe she had the right idea. Say what you want about her, but she looked out for number one. Her only mistake was having me. Luckily I didn’t make the same one. I’m not hurting anyone else.”

  “You’re hurting me. I love you, you stupid cow. My brothers love you. My parents love you. Jem still—”

  I sit straight up. “V, Justin’s alive. He’s alive and well and Jem knew but didn’t tell me. So fuck off and let me have my nervous breakdown in peace.”

  This information does its job. It shuts her the hell up. Her jaw literally drops as she stares at me to gage if I’m lying or just crazy. My stony face must convince her because she says, “Jesus.”

  “Yep. So I realize I’m a fucking mess right now, I do, but I kind of think I’ve earned the right to a little alone time as I figure out how the fuck I’m going to continue in this filthy, disgusting, nightmare of a world and come to terms with the fact that the two people I almost died for think so little of me.”

  “I’m so sorry, Jo. I truly am. What they did…is shitty beyond words. But drinking yourself to death isn’t the solution.”

  “Then what is?” I snap. “Oh great, wise one, what the fuck am I supposed to do?”

  “What you’ve always done. You pick yourself up, and put one foot in front of the other because though it might take some time, eventually you’ll find yourself someplace else. Someplace better. And then you rub their noses in it. Living well is the best revenge, Jo. What you’re doing is drinking poison and hoping they’re the ones who die.”

  “You got that from a fortune cookie.”

  “Doesn’t make it any less true,” she counters. “So you’ve had your little pity party for one. Time to get up and join humanity again. And you can call the police, you can throw things at me, you can even call me names, but I’m not leaving. Because if the tables were turned, you wouldn’t leave me. So get your ass out of bed and get in the shower or I’ll call my brothers and parents and they’ll invade this place like Vikings for an impromptu intervention. Won’t that be fun?”

  Fuck. Fuck! She’ll do it too. Bitch. I do need a shower though. I also don’t have the energy or brain cells to fight. I throw the pillow at her. “I hate you.”

  “I can live with that. I know you’ll get over it. Now get up!”

  Rolling my eyes, which wasn’t wise with a headache, I pull my carcass out of bed and into the bathroom. I don’t dare glance at myself in the mirror. Made that mistake two days ago. The shower does help with the headache and the shampoo with the rest of it. In the back of my mind, I knew this was coming. The day I’d have to face the world again. A not-so-tiny part of me kind of hoped I wouldn’t wake up. Not exactly a de
ath wish but more of a death acceptance. Maybe the hooch is the only factor keeping that acceptance crossing over into darker territory. Another reason not to stop. I just need to get V out of here. I’ll cut down—I’m tired of physically feeling like shit—but not go cold turkey. Or to meetings. Being a functional alcoholic worked for me in the past, it’ll be good enough for the future.

  Judging from the noises in the other room, I assume V’s cleaning. Better her than me. I slip on jeans, a white t-shirt, and braid my wet hair before joining her. Sensing I’m not up for talking, as we continue cleaning, V blabbers about her week in Jericho unearthing ties between the Andretti mob and our mayor. I’ve never been much of a housekeeper, but I let it get to a whole other level. Stains everywhere, food already molding, Jem would have a heart attack if he saw this. The man is anal and not in the fun way. If I left a sock on the floor he’d pitch a fit. That took some getting used to. Well, I hope he enjoys his spotless, empty, soulless apartment. I don’t—

  “Jo?” V asks, bringing me out of my head. “Did you hear me?”

  “No. Sorry. I spaced out.”

  She ties up the full trash bag. “I asked if you still had access to the Justice computer.”

  “Of course. Why?”

  “Because I think this story is bigger than I thought. The mayor, senators, even the governor may be involved.”

  “And you want me to do your job for you.” And the true reason she came by has revealed itself. Concern for my welfare had nothing to do with it. She just wanted something from me. Why am I so surprised? I roll my eyes. “Fuck you.”

  “What now?”