Galilee Rising (14 page)

More silence, then, "You care about me?"

I spin around, mouth flopped open again. "Of course I fucking care about you, you asshole! Jesus Christ! We had one stupid tiff! That's what friends do. We fight, we talk, we make up. What we don't fucking do is let our friend think we're dead even for a second!"

"I thought…I didn't think…it didn't even occur to me. I'm sorry."

"Well, you damn well should be!" With a sniffle, I wipe my eyes a final time. "Just…don't do it again. Try not to get shot. Period. If something happened to you…I'd fucking kill you."

"I feel the same way."

"Good. Then we're in agreement. Nothing will happen to either of us."

A smile crosses his lips. "I can live with that."

I return it. "You better." I scoff and sit again, shaking my head at the ridiculousness of…everything. "What a fucking day. I get shot at, you get shot. Hell, maybe I am cursed."

"
I'm
the one who was actually shot," he counters. "If anyone is cursed…"

I glance at his chest. "Does it hurt?"

"My ribs itch like mad, but that means they're healing. I'll be fine by tomorrow."

"Is there anything I can do?"

"No, but thank you," he says with a quick smile.

I smile back. "Well, if it makes you feel better, you were fucking brilliant tonight. That backwards kick you did, that was pretty bad-ass," I chuckle.

"Thank you for informing me about him."

I shrug. "Well friends don't let friends get shot in the back. It's part of the code."

"I…consider you a friend as well." He hangs his head a little again. "And I do trust you. I would tell you who I am, I swear I would, but the others aren't ready yet. I cannot go against their wishes. They…they're all I've had for a long time."

"They're family," I say.

"Yes, I suppose they are." He pauses to clear his throat. "So please don't take it personally."

I pause, working up the courage to ask, "You would tell me? Honestly?"

"On my life."

And I believe him. "Good."

We sit just half smiling at each other for awhile. I drop the smile, and before I can stop myself I reach across and squeeze his gloved hand. He squeezes back before I pull away and rise. That's enough for tonight. "I'm exhausted. I'm sure you are too. We can do the paperwork later."

"No, it won't take too long. I'll do it. You go to bed."

"You sure? I can keep you company."

"No, you've done enough for me tonight. Get some sleep."

I pat and rub his shoulder. "You too." I walk up the ramp, glancing at him to see if he's watching me. He is. "Goodnight, your Lordship," I purr with a cheeky grin.

"Goodnight, Joanna."

Something about the way he says those words makes me warm all over. The feeling doesn't wane as I go upstairs and climb back into bed. Two bad men behind bars, one friendship salvaged, and federal funding for seven free clinics. Not bad for a day's work. I close my eyes.

Maybe tomorrow I'll crack world peace. My partner can help.

CHAPTER EIGHT

Practically Perfect

It's a beautiful day, the last for this week per the weather report, so I intend to take full advantage. World peace can wait. At eleven, after breakfast in bed thanks to the best butler in the world, I saunter my usual route down the beach. I'd run but I'll get enough exercise on my sailboat later. There are just one or two things I have to take care of while Dobbs packs my picnic basket.

A work crew on the beach sets up tables and chairs under a tent while Lexie, dressed in a pink velour track suit with huge sunglasses and coffee tumbler, directs traffic. A late night was had by all. "No, I said eight chairs per table! Twice! Jesus," she mutters.

"Hi," I say. "Hope I'm not interrupting."

"Oh, hello. No just getting ready for the fundraiser. It's such a pain in the ass." She sips her tumbler. "Shit, I'm out. I am not making it though this day without twelve cups of coffee. Come on up. You can help me scream at the cleaners."

I follow her up the stairs, which more than makes up for my not running, while she takes the mountain in stride. I'm gasping while she whistles. Unfair. The cleaners scrub and vacuum the house in preparation for her fundraiser tonight as others decorate with freesias and unlit candles. She gives orders as we pass into the kitchen, filled with stainless steel everything. Brendan, dressed in a green Independence Eagles jersey and shorts stands, at the counter eating cereal as caterers stack up crates of food. "Look who popped by," Lexie says as we enter.

"Hey, Jo," Brendan says with his mouth full.

"Classy, darling," Lexie scolds. She pours us coffee. "Bren, coffee?"

"Thanks babe," he says.

"Like morons we were out all night after the game. Keep forgetting we're not as young as we used to be," Lexie says.

"That's for damn sure," Brendan says.

"What were you guys up to?" I ask.

She passes around the cups. "Club hopping with a few teammates and wives. My legs are killing me from all the dancing," Lexie says. "At least we weren't at the other one that exploded or whatever. This city," she says, shaking her head. "And now I have this fundraiser today."

"That's actually why I stopped by. I'm not going to make it tonight, I'm sorry. I'm not just up to it. It's been a long couple of days, and my ability to bullshit and schmooze is impaired. I'm sorry."

"You have to come! You're the only person in town I like!" Lexie says.

"Hey," Brendan says.

She scowls at him. "Oh, you don't count. You're my husband."

"Thanks, babe."

I pull out the check from my pocket. "I'm really sorry. Here, for the shelter."

She takes it. "Well, forty grand
begins
to make up for your abandonment, I guess."

"Um, who ditched who at the Mills' party? We're square now."

"I told you we only did that because you looked so cozy with your doctor out there. I knew he'd take
very
good care of you. And by the way, it worked so you're welcome." She leans on the counter. "So, how
are
things going with the good doctor? I haven't spoken to you in days. I'm dying for the next chapter in the saga."

Brendan picks up his mug and walks over to the sink. "And I'm taking that as my cue to leave. See you around, Jo." I wave as he walks out.

"Girl talk gives him indigestion," Lexie says. "So. Tell me! What is going on? Has he kissed you yet?"

"No. I told you, we're just friends."

"Right. Sure. I totally believe you," she says in a monotone. "That's why you get all goofy smiley when you talk about him."

"I do not."

"You so do. It's beyond cute. So, it's been two weeks, and you've seen him almost every day, have you even held hands yet? Called him in the middle of the night just to hear his voice?"

My cheeks flare up in embarrassment. "I had a bad day and couldn't sleep." Twice.

"And he was the only succor you could find," she says dramatically. "
Tres
romantic. You're totally falling for him. And why not? He sounds like a fantastic guy. Sweet, smart, interesting, and crazy about you. Cute too, in a nutty professor sort of way. You could do a hell of a lot worse."

"I know," I say, playing with my mug.

She sips her coffee. "Just one piece of advice: be careful."

"Why?"

"I knew a guy like him once. Shy, been through hell, just makes it hard to let people in. But once someone's in, they're in forever. Just don't do anything until you're a thousand percent certain you're ready to give as good as you get. That's all." She sips her coffee. "Anyway, traitor, I have a trillion things to do today. Lexie's wisdom shop is closed. Time for me to kick your butt out. Come on."

As she leads me back to the beach, past the lounging Brendan who winks at me, I tell her the best people to hit up for donations. Guilt assuaged, I wave good-bye and walk home, a knowing smile on my face when I turn my back to her. No doubt now. I chuckle and shake my head at the absurdity of it all.

Traffic isn't bad until I enter the city where kamikaze pedestrians and taxi drivers do their damnedest to give me a heart attack. Jem lives in the center of town in Parkscale, the ritzy part of the city with Stan Lee Park just around the corner. Jem's building is one of our newest and biggest, forty-five stories high and most of it blue glass built on top of the old building which was demolished after a fight between Justice and Shrieker. Most new buildings have similar history. The doorman phones Jem's apartment. This place still smells of paint and carpet glue. It takes awhile, but eventually I'm allowed up to his penthouse. I knock, then hear a thwack and grumbling inside before the door opens.

"Hello," Jem says, rubbing his shin. God is he too cute for words dressed in a dark blue robe over striped pajamas, wild hair and toothpaste in the left corner of his mouth. I have the strongest urge to lick it off. "This is a surprise."

"It shouldn't be. We're supposed to go sailing today, remember?"

"We are?"

"Yeah. Remember I said I was thinking of going, and you said you always wanted to learn, and I said, 'Well, why don't we start your lessons Sunday,' then you asked, 'Can it be Saturday?' I shrugged, and you said, 'I'd love to. You are the kindest, most generous friend I've ever had. Monuments should be constructed in your image.' Remember all that?"

He grins and the dimple appears. Dear God, puppies aren't even this adorable. "I do now."

"So, you gonna let me in?"

"Right," he says, shaking his head. "Right. Come in."

His apartment isn't how I imagined it. I expected something smaller with a little more personality. All the walls are stark white, as are the venetian blinds that cover a whole wall. The hardwood floors still glint with wax from the sunshine radiating through the skylights above. The only decorations are four large overstuffed bookcases, telescope, aquamarine and white couch, glass coffee table and television. A few paintings still in bubble wrap lean against the wall and fireplace. I hold the handrail as I walk down the two steps in the living room. "It's…big. Definitely has potential. Maybe paint a few walls, throw down some rugs." I look up at the blue sky. "I love the skylights and cathedral ceilings. You can sit by the fire and gaze up at the stars."

"That's exactly why I moved in. That and the view. Hold on." He walks over to the fireplace and grabs the remote from the mantle. When he presses the button, the blinds rise, revealing buildings of various heights below and the red, yellow, and orange of the park's trees. "It's even better at night with the buildings illuminated."

"It's beautiful."

"Yes," he says, staring out with a contented smile. He glances at me, and I smile back. "I need to shower before we leave."

"Take your time."

Jem gives me another quick smile before disappearing into the hallway. I hear the door shut before I start my snooping. I begin in the kitchen to make us coffee. It's small with a stainless steel island in the middle of the room and faux wood counters with only a microwave and coffeepot on them. In the fridge I find rotting Chinese take-out boxes, milk, olives, peanut butter, and two slices of bread. Looks like my old fridge. With the coffee percolating, I move on.

The guest bathroom doesn't even have toilet paper in the dispenser. Wonder if I'm the first guest he's had. The master bedroom door is closed, but the other two bedroom doors aren't. The first is a study with more overflowing bookcases, a file cabinet, and large desk covered in journals, loose papers, and files stacked inches high. I read one of the stray papers but don't understand a word of it. Medical jargon. The last room proves more interesting. As I enter, I notice a shadowy figure in the corner. I quickly flick on the light. An attack dummy, just a torso and head of a fake man. He looks worn, as does the punching bag hanging from the ceiling held together by duct tape and fraying fibers. Well used. The floor is covered with blue mats like those found in a dojo. Huh. I shut off the light.

The coffee is done by the end of the tour. I still hear the shower running, so I quietly sneak into his bedroom with his cup. Okay, I'm shameless, but I am dying to see inside. Like the rest of the apartment it's sparely furnished with only an antique armoire, double bed with plain wood headboard, nightstand, and TV on a dresser. The bed is unmade with soft white sheets and a dark purple comforter. The shower turns off in the adjoining bathroom, and I quickly flee.

I have anywhere between ten minutes and an hour before he comes out depending on his beauty ritual, so I continue my investigation in the living room. First stop is the telescope, which I'm glad to find is pointed at the sky and not at a woman's bedroom. The bookcases mostly have biographies of political figures, non-fiction on wars, medical breakthroughs, spies, political policies, true crime, a lot on forensic investigating and profiling, and a few mysteries thrown in for flavor. What really captures my attention is the shoe-box on the top of the corner bookcase. It's calling to me like a Siren. I crash into the rocks.

Jackpot.

Inside are photos, ticket stubs, even jewelry. A ring, a solitaire diamond on a gold band. There's an inscription inside, "J.A./U.G." with the infinity symbol between the initials. An engagement ring. I put it back and take out the photo on the top. I've seen it before. I recognize it from Rebecca's mantle amid other family photos. She and a beautiful Indian woman have their cheeks pressed against each other making kissy faces for the camera. The next one in the box has Jem and the same woman, I presume Uma, sitting under a tree each reading a book while holding hands. Uma holding up her engagement ring to the camera as Rebecca hugs Jem in the background of a bar. There are a few more snapshots of their romance like the couple at her parents' house, Uma curled up on a couch asleep, them playing darts. In every shot they're serenely happy, glowing even. Is it wrong to be jealous of a dead woman I've never met? Probably.

Her obituary is halfway through the box. I've already read the murder book thanks to Doris. Uma Gupta was declared brain dead after a single gunshot wound to the head during an apparent home invasion. Per the file, Jem was the one who discovered her in their apartment, lying in a pool of blood. I saw the crime scene photos, it was pretty gruesome. They took her off life support the next day. She was twenty-three years old. They never found the shooter.