"Jesus Christ! You scared the hell out of me!" I say with a hard tone. "You know, I think from now on if you have to come here, you should send a text first or something."
"Our phones are bugged, remember?" Nightingale says, matching my tone.
"Even better. Don't come over at all." I switch off the TV. "When you do, you might as well just paint another target on my back." I stand with a sneer. "I have no desire to be scraped out of a bombed out car too, thank you very much." I walk past him as I say, "Do what you came to do and leave. I'm going to bed."
"I was called into your old precinct today," Nightingale says as I reach the door. I spin around. "Captain O'Hara had several questions for me about my brother. Jordan."
"Did he? Imagine that."
Nightingale's mouth drops open. "Why? Why did you do that? He was talking about releasing a photo of Jordan to the press. What…" He's stunned into speechlessness. "W-Why?"
"He's in charge of the case. He needed to know. I trust him to do the right thing for this city."
"And what transpired between us last night had nothing to do with your sudden decision?"
"Of course it did. Because after you left, I had an epiphany. I realized exactly how selfish I was being."
"Selfish?"
"Yeah. I was letting my idiotic feelings for you blind me from seeing what any asshole could. That you need to leave. You need to run, or fly, or whatever out of this city and don't look back. I don't care where you go, but I suggest a deserted island where you and your brother can kill each other or fuck each other or whatever you want to do without hurting innocent people. It just won't be here. Not if I have anything to say or do about it."
"You cannot be serious."
"Deathly. I will do everything in my considerable power to save my city from you and your psycho brother."
"You're going to run me out of town on a rail?"
"If needs be."
His shoulders fall. "Joanna, you're not thinking clearly."
"Don't you dare fucking patronize me," I snap. "I see things very clearly. You leave, your brother leaves. Simple math. Can you honestly say you've improved things around here? Or should we ask Brendan and the dozens who died on that bridge due to you?"
"You're just being cruel now."
I take a step toward him, ice cold eyes boring into him. "Well, I've been taught by masters, babe. And unless you leave and leave now, I will school you too. Your job at the hospital? Gone. The few friends you have remaining? The things I can tell them. And, if I have to, the entire damn world will hear just how warped the Ambrose Brothers are. I will spill to any reporter who will listen the tale of a certain respected doctor who moonlights as a superhero and his twin brother whose twisted love resulted in a triple digit death count. The only reason I haven't yet is out of respect for Lexie and Brendan. But that respect extends only so far. So before I blow up your life, I suggest you go home and type up a letter of registration, pack your bags, and pick an island. You can show yourself out."
I turn on my heel again and walk to the door until his voice stops me. "Don't do this, Joanna. It's…beneath you. We need to work together. Now more than ever. I'm sorry I hurt you. I'm sorry. I--"
I twirl back around. "You didn't hurt me, Jem. It takes a hell of a lot more than some socially stunted, incestuous, second rate superhero to hurt me. What you did was knock some sense into me. Now I'm just returning the favor. Leave. Or I will crucify you."
With one final glare, I stalk out of the living room like the evil queen in a fairy tale with a satisfied grin on my face without a glimpse back. Yet it slowly drops with each step as the weight of the situation starts stacking. I have to do this now. Him being on board doesn't make it easier. That man's just going to stand by and watch as his livelihood, his reputation, hell his life burns to ashes all for the greater good. And I'm the bitch who lights the match. And I always thought being a villain would be a hell of a lot more fun.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
To Shreds
A week and a half and nothing. A week and a half of me ripping his brother to shreds in almost every conceivable way, and Jordan remains silent. He doesn't crawl out of his hole in any capacity. No notes, no telephone calls, not even flowers. At least there are no more attacks. He's probably too busy watching the soap opera taking place in my house and out in the world. I've been a right good diva, chewing up the scenery and spitting acid about Dr. Jem Ambrose to anyone who listens. Hospital board members have received several calls each where I lay out all my reservations about Jem's drug trial. That I've heard he's not following guidelines and protocol, that he's mismanaging his staff. I even faxed them information about one of his trials several years before where the drug caused brain aneurysms that left subjects blind. I even called the FDA to demand an investigation into his latest one. All that made its way to the press too.