"I shouldn't-I-I have to go." He leaps up and begins to walk away. He's quickly out of view, but a second later he rounds the corner again. "Wait outside for the bomb squad. Please show them down here, then go straight home. Lock all the doors, and don't leave until I or one of the others arrive. Don't let anyone else in."
"Jem--"
"Joanna, please! Just do this for me. Please," he begs, not hiding his desperation.
"Okay," I say with a nod.
"I'll be by when I can. Be careful."
And he leaves me alone in the dark beside a bomb, my lips tingling from his touch, without another word. I shake my head. Supermen.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Post Mortem
The bomb squad arrives minutes later. Two minutes longer than the bomb would have allowed them. Jem saved the hospital and no one will ever know. A crying shame. I escort the squad to the bomb then return upstairs to help the overwhelmed hospital staff in the parking lot and river walk where they've set-up a makeshift M.A.S.H. unit. Despite the evacuation, patients stream in from the smoldering bridge, which still crumbles into the river as fire crews try to control the blaze and continue rescue efforts. With the patients from inside, the ones from the bridge, and those injured from the flying glass, it's bedlam. I've had first-aid training so I make myself useful bandaging and ordering people around. As I channel Florence Nightingale, no pun intended, once or twice Liberty and Tempest fly in with someone from the bridge, but if they see me they don't let on. They dump their cargo and zoom off to save more. As time passes, and there are no more explosions, I assume Jem is successful with the other bombs. I'll chalk that down as a victory.
It's dark by the time I drag my exhausted, bloodstained body home. Pendergast Bridge had ceased smoldering but lost a hundred feet of road and probably won't be usable for a minimum of over a year. Long way home from here on in. I take a quick shower, toss on some sweats, and literally run down to the command center. Tempest and Liberty, both still splattered in dust and blood, are already typing away on Doris. Liberty sits in front of the computer where an image of Cain from the transmission fills the screen. "I told you, I don't know how to do that!" Liberty shouts to her hovering husband.
"Do what?" I ask as I walk down.
Both turn and seem relieved to see me. "Jesus Christ, there you are. We were getting worried," Liberty says.
"They needed help at the hospital. Jem's not back yet?"
"Not yet. He--" Tempest realizes his mistake. "What?"
"He told you?" Liberty asks, mouth agape.
"No, I figured it out weeks ago, Lexie."
She and her husband exchange an uncomfortable glance. "But--"
"I think we have more pressing concerns right now. Get up." She does, and I plop in the computer chair. "What are you trying to do?"
"Analyze the background noise in case we can hear his accomplice," Tempest says. I pull up the program and fine tune it. "How much do you know?"
"Most." I shake my head. "There's too much ambient noise from the boilers to isolate it. Sorry." I spin in the chair to face them. "Have you spoken to the police? Have they lifted any prints from the camera?"
"No, and they're still processing all the prints on and around the bomb," Liberty says.
"Jem's will be on the one from the hospital. He wasn't wearing gloves."
"Shit," Tempest says. "That fucking…" He groans. "That'd be all we need."
"I'll take care of it." I sigh. "I think we should tell the police who Cain really is. Get his picture out there, his name."
"GFPD have all his past aliases, of which I'm sure are useless as he's using a new one now," Tempest says. "He also disguises himself in public. We've been through this three times before. And there are other considerations. It'd put Jem Ambrose on their radar. He'd be placed under surveillance, or worse. He could be exposed."
"Trust us, we've had this debate a dozen times before," Liberty adds. "Jem's our best hope of finding the prick. He can't do that if he's being followed. We'll only pull that pin if we have no other option."
"Fine. So what do we do now?"
"All we have at present are the bombs and this broadcast," Tempest says. "He hacked into BNN's signal like before. The man he used last time is serving five years in prison, so he must have found someone else. I already pulled a list from the database. If you can track them down, we can cull the list. We know it was filmed in the boiler room but when? He left the camera for a reason, though."
"Jem took a tape out of it," I say. "I don't know what was on it."