Justice Mine: a Base Branch Novel

by Megan Mitcham

  When Dylan left, Jessica stepped toward the door. “I am really sorry for your friend, but I can’t tell you anything.”

  “I can see you’re afraid of them, Jessica. But you can help us put them away for a long time,” Mags offered.

  “I can’t. I won’t lose…what I’ve worked hard to protect.” Jessica lifted her hand, showing them the door.

  “Dylan is Haltman Weaver’s son,” Magdalena said above a breath, careful no one in the other room could hear.

  Jessica slapped at the torrent cascading down her face. “He is my son.” She stabbed a finger at the door, and mouthed ferociously. “Leave now.”

  Magdalena opened her mouth, but Khani grabbed her arm and hauled her off the couch and toward the door. She was two steps onto the gravel walkway before she formed a rebuttal. But again, Khani stole her breath. This time, the warrior’s arm shot out like a snake strike, stopping the door about to be slammed in their faces.

  Khani bowed her head. “Did Weaver rape you?”

  Jessica swayed on her feet and grabbed the doorframe for balance. She whimpered like a wounded animal then sobbed, “No.”

  Are you kidding me? If that didn’t look like a yes, Mags didn’t know what did.

  “Did he coerce you?” Khani’s voice dropped to a whisper.

  Jessica covered her beautiful splotched face with both hands and nodded.

  35

  “I wish she’d told us more. We have to find Willow. I know she was forced one way or another. She wouldn’t allow someone to abuse her like that and she wouldn’t push me away, unless someone had something over her.”

  “Or her dad,” Khani allowed. “And she told us enough, for now. Once she realizes they’re no longer a threat to her, she’ll talk. At least she has her priorities in order.”

  “Damn them,” Mags growled. “You know, I’m not a naturally violent person, but I hope Law beats the ability to sport wood from that weasel.”

  “Here. Here.” Khani turned the car onto the highway then tapped a button on her sleek leather steering wheel. After a beep, she said, “Lima. Echo. Oscar. Papa. Alpha. Romeo. Delta. One. Nine. Nine. Four.”

  After a series of beeps an operator answered. “Voice confirmation complete. Director Slaughter, how may I direct your call?”

  “Grizzly.”

  “You’ve got the bear. How can I help?” An American voice fit for phone sex or battle cries steamed the car windows, but Khani didn’t seem to notice. She plowed ahead, all business.

  “I need an address for the Minister of State for Trade and Investment, the Lord Wren. And I need last activity for his daughter, Willow May Wren.”

  When Grizzly chimed in again, they’d only passed a handful of trees on the forest-bordered thoroughfare. “His address is uploaded to your GPS. You’ll arrive on his doorstep at five p.m. Would you like me to make you an appointment, or is this a surprise visit?”

  “A polite ambush,” Khani said.

  “Sounds fun. Willow Wren’s last banking transaction is a debit at Haskel’s Pizza at eleven fifteen a.m. on July eleventh.”

  All the air left Magdalena’s lungs in a rush.

  “You’re a gem, Grizz,” Khani lauded.

  “Back at ya, Lep,” he agreed.

  As soon as the call disconnected, Mags hyperventilated. Her chest convulsed in panic. Khani slammed on the brakes. Horns blared. Instantly, her breathing evened as she braced both hands on the dash and waited for the impact.

  “Now, isn’t that better?” Khani eased on the gas and carried on with her skillful drive through growing city traffic. “Freaking out isn’t allowed. You’ve done really well, so far. Don’t make me regret our little escapade.”

  Mags bobbed her head.

  “If she’s at her dad’s place, like her note said, there’s no reason for her to use her bank account. Pops has plenty of it.”

  “Right. You’re right.”

  “Tell me about the restaurant.”

  “It’s local, only a few blocks from our flat. Has great calzones and a mellow crowd.”

  Khani kept up with the open-ended questions and demands for information, most of which was irrelevant. Who really cared what type of fingernail polish Willow wore as long as they found her, safe with her father. It didn’t take Mags long to realize the woman kept her talking to keep her from losing her shit again, and a place in her heart warmed for the cool, take charge giant. In no time at all they parked in front of Lord Charles Wren’s red brick home on Lord North Street of Westminster. The irony sat bitter on her tongue.

  Magdalena hopped out of the car and watched as Khani unfolded with cat-like grace, her call sign absolutely fitting.

  “How do you want to play this? Will’s my friend, but upper crust aren’t my people,” Mags asked.

  “You grew up at Baine’s estate,” Khani countered.

  “Yeah, on the estate as the help. None of his family made me feel that way, but we went to the same preppy school. And those ass-hats never let me forget it.”

  “Well, I grew up in the slum. So, they aren’t my people either.” Her bright lips drew into a half-smirk half-smile.

  “Could have fooled me.”

  “That’s the idea, anyway.”

  “We all have them, don’t we,” Mags sighed.

  “Secrets? Yeah. Some more than others. Let’s see what the Lord Wren has in his closet.”

  They fell in step together, ambling the short distance to the painted black door. Khani overlooked the gold lion’s head doorknocker and bare-knuckled two strong beats on the wood. A spin later, a boy-toy butler opened the door. The twenty-something chap sported a fine tan, lean muscles, and impeccable bone structure. With his wide shoulders relaxed at a casual slant, he looked more model than houseman.

  His smile required sunglasses. “Hello,” he rasped. The come-hither furl of his brow and gentle purse of his lips was too much. Holy hell, he gave butlers a bad name and that set fire to Magdalena’s britches in an irritating, stop, drop, and roll, kind of way. “What can I help you beautiful ladies with today? Or, any other day?”

  Gross. Just disgusting.

  “I’m looking for my roommate, Willow,” Mags said to keep from laying into the guy, and not in the way he wanted.

  “Oh, Magdalena,” the guy nodded. “She didn’t tell me you were gorgeous, but I should have known. You obviously keep fit company.” His head inclined toward Khani, rummaging her head to toe. “Are those the new Charlotte Olympia’s? They are sublime.”

  “Thanks,” Khani said. “Willow?”

  “Sorry, I get carried away sometimes. She’s not here. I’m Roark, by the way.”

  “Roark, do you know when she’ll be back?” Mags raised her hand, pulling his attention from Khani’s shoes. Maybe he wasn’t sweet on them after all.

  “She stayed here two nights, but left yesterday with a friend. Said they were going out of town for a few days. I didn’t know she had a thing for older guys.” He sighed.

  “Older guys,” Mags squeaked.

  “Yeah, he may not have been much older than Charles.” He tsked. “Lord Wren, I mean. But the guy certainly doesn’t take care of himself like… Well, he had a paunch and white hair.” He flopped his shoulders. “Who am I to judge?”

  Magdalena took the direct hit with no time to feint to the side for a glancing blow. The news charged her with relentless force, knocking the wind from her lungs. She gripped the door before she got intimate with the stoop or garden basket perched on the window to her right.

  Khani took over. “We need to see Lord Wren.” When his brows lifted she added, “Please.”

  “Step inside and I’ll see if he’s available.”

  Khani grabbed her arm and helped Mags up the tiny step. They murmured their thanks and cooperated, clopping their heels and sandals on the checkerboard black-and-white marble of the vestibule. Both watched Roark stroll away. Magdalena whispered. “I’m so confused. And on the verge of vomiting. They have her.”

  “It
’s most likely, but they won’t for long. We’ve got one of their own. Law sent me a text.”

  “Is he okay? What does he know? Did he find Willow?”

  “Shhh, he texted green. It means operation in progress, which means he’s more than fine. Pull it together and tell me why you’ve not been here before.”

  “Will and I met at school.”

  “I’m formulating my deduction about what Wren’s secret is,” Khani conceded. “But I’ll reserve, until after we meet with the man.”

  “You’re confident we’ll be seen.”

  “Absolutely.”

  Not a minute later they were ushered through a modern traditional home with enough recessed and colored lighting to remind Mags of an alien ship. Not that she’d ever seen one, even in films really. A professional decorator, no doubt, had dressed the office they entered in bright white and muted hues of grey like the rest of the house. Thanks to Khani she walked through it on steadier legs.

  The Lord Wren sat behind a glass-topped desk and rose when they neared. His chiseled jaw jutted forward and his sturdy shoulders carried the weight of responsibility nicely. The rolled cuffs of his dress shirt, loosened tie, and three unfastened buttons at the top revealed sculpted muscles of an obscenely fit man in his fifties.

  “Ladies, I am Charles Wren. It’s nice to meet friends of Willow.” He extended his hand and shook each reciprocating hand in turn with a sure grip. “Would either of you like something to drink?” When they declined the offer, he bowed his head at the man standing behind them. “Thank you, Roark.”

  Wren’s gaze followed the man from the room then returned to them. He cleared his throat. “Please, have a seat, and tell me what it is I can do for you.”

  “How well do you know Haltman Weaver and Livingston Hues?” Khani asked.

  “I’m confused.” His lips thinned in tandem with his brow.

  “What do you know about The Council for Higher Education?” Khani pushed on.

  “I work occasionally with the two men and I know The Council does good in the education community, giving scholarships and the like to those less fortunate. Now, I thought you were here to talk about Willow. Maybe a surprise birthday party or some such thing. Why are you asking about two of my colleagues and their philanthropy?”

  Unwavering, Khani forged ahead. “Do you have any secrets to hide, Lord Wren?” His posture took on the air of a corpse, stiffening from the tips of his salt and pepper hair to his toes. “I can see you do, and I believe Hues and Weaver have used that secret to blackmail your daughter.”

  “What?” He leaned forward, gripping the edge of his glass desk. “How? I don’t understand who you are, or what you think you know, but I have nothing to hide and my daughter is just fine. She was here two days ago.”

  “I am a personal friend of the queen with level Zeta clearance. This is Willow’s flatmate, Magdalena Wells.”

  Apparently that clearance business meant something to Will’s father. His eyes took on the characteristics of a hot air balloon, swelling with surprise and threatening to lift right out of his head. He didn’t break his gaze from Khani to acknowledge Magdalena’s friendship with his daughter.

  “I thought…that clearance level was myth,” Wren stuttered.

  “We’d like to keep it that way,” Khani said with an edge.

  “Lord Wren, Willow is a dear friend. She’s been my anchor for the last several years, but more than that, she is a great person. Dependable. Crazy talented. Loyal. Honest.” His gaze found her and two prideful curves bookended his mouth. “I’ve been away for twelve months on a foreign study mission. When I got back I stumbled onto a scene that was so unlike Willow I immediately knew something was wrong. There is no doubt in my mind that Haltman Weaver holds something over your daughter to make her bend to his will.”

  “Bend how?” Wren’s voice resonated with authority.

  “He sexually assaulted Willow.” His entire body jerked as if he’d been shot. “She refused to talk with me about the incident, but I could tell she hadn’t willfully consented.”

  Wren’s entire body vibrated. He tugged at his already loose tie then his hand shot to the phone on his desk.

  “That would be an imprudent course of action,” Khani said.

  “If what you say is true, then they chose the imprudent course. Not me. I’ll take everything they hold dear and smear it all over Parliament.” Wren seethed.

  “Put the phone down. Now.” The control in Khani’s voice brooked no argument. To Magdalena’s amazement, Wren complied. He looked at his hands in stunned amazement then at the woman who’d given him an order. “I have a man on the job in a much better position to handle this without sullying you or your daughter’s good name.”

  36

  Sure, he wasn’t one hundred percent. His side hurt like a whale had beached itself on his flank then died, weighing down the ninth and tenth ribs with mind-bending pain. A devil of a headache stabbed him between the eyes. Still, Khani didn’t have to screw him with Street just because she screwed herself with the kid. He’d much rather be staring into Magdalena’s sultry face than waiting inside Weaver’s flat, catching King Street’s, what the hell kind of name is that, astute gaze. The kid in a man’s body considered Law like he were a Taylor series function to calculate.

  At least Street could move his hulking body like a silent wrath and flatten a bloke with one pop of his fist. Had Law been alone against the six-man security team spread over two roofs, the front and rear building entrances, and inside Weaver’s flat, things could have gotten messy.

  Now all they had to do was wait for the weasel to stroll through the door, which, according to the chatty chap bound and gagged in the master bedroom closet, they expected within the hour. Waiting didn’t usually bother Law. He’d waited seven hours in Columbian mud for his target to arrive, twelve days by Clara’s bedside for her to take her last breath, and nearly a decade to resume living his life after. But instinct and Street’s knowing gaze told him the kid was about to cross into unwelcome territory.

  “Do you love her?”

  Sometimes Law hated being right. “We’re on the same team, but it doesn’t mean you get to juggle my balls.”

  “I’ll take that as an affirmative.” Street’s voice whispered over the room that separated them, but his amusement made the journey on an easy chuckle.

  “Take it as you’re going to end up with my boot in your mouth, if you don’t shut it.” Law growled.

  “Am I sensing some pent up frustration?”

  “You’re sensing your death, if you fuck Khani over. Career and family mean everything to her. Don’t take one away because you can’t keep your dick in your pants.”

  “Ever heard the term it takes two to tango?”

  Irritation inflamed Law’s skin. It screamed for relief or release from the stony pose he’d taken twenty minutes ago. The perfect reprieve would be going rounds with Street. The kid was big, but Law had shaved Baine to size a time or ten. He had no doubt he’d do the same with Street, but banked Scouse bled through the kid’s accent, just once, in a phrase he’d used while knocking a tooth out of one of the guards who tried to sneak up on the bloke. Law didn’t know Street’s background, but the way he rather skillfully hid his Liverpool roots spoke to the kid’s intellect and street smarts. In a fair fight he’d go dirty every time, which is what separated the men from the boys. Maybe he’d have to refer to him as a young man.

  Two pairs of footsteps tapped in the hallway, moving quickly toward the door. Neither Law nor Street made a sound, their back and forth forgotten for the time. A key slid into the lock and the door sung wide, pouring a rectangle of artificial light into the dark foyer and offset living area.

  Law breathed as steadily as if he were relaxing on the couch catching a one-sided game. When a woman’s voice split the air with a sob his breath suspended in his lungs. A slender figure stumbled into his line of sight, grasping the side of an antique entry table four feet from him.

&nbs
p; “What is it with uncooperative bitches? One won’t put out. One won’t die. And now you. Oh, you’ll give me what I want or I’ll splash your mum’s affair with her intern all over the news. She’ll lose her job and you’ll have to quit school. Waitressing won’t get you through Oxford, will it?” Haltman Weaver tossed a key into a ceramic bowl on the side table from which the young woman retreated. His jacket came next, sailing through the air and landing on a wing-backed chair at the den entrance as he kicked the door shut.

  The room plunged into inky darkness, but Law watched Street step out from behind the parting wall and nail Weaver square in the nose. A startled cry left the man’s mouth a moment before the crunch and subsequent silence replaced it. But the young woman took over the shrill exclamation.

  Law stepped forward and wrapped an arm around the girl’s waist, pinning her arms to her side. With his other hand he pinched a nerve at her nape. Her panicked holler faded and he cradled her weight. Weaver, on the other hand, hit the floor like a wet stack of newspapers.

  “What the hell?” Street barked. “She wasn’t a threat.”

  “One, never underestimate a woman. Two, she’s easier to deal with unconscious. Three, take her home. To her home, not yours.”

  “Screw you. I’d never take advantage of a woman. I may be a lot of things, but a fuckwad isn’t one. And I’m not leaving until I have a crack at that fuckwad. His guy shot me yesterday.”

  “Well, you can catch her or let her hit the ground.” Law released his hold on the woman and smiled as Street scrambled to capture the co-ed’s weight before she met the floor. When he succeeded, Law made a clicking sound with his mouth. “I knew you were fast.

  “As far as a shot at Weaver goes, you’re S.O.L. That bastard tried to kill the woman I love. And me, not that I get bent out of shape over that. Plenty have tried and I’m still here.

  “Wipe that damn smirk off your face and get lost.”

  “It’s too dark to see my smirk,” Street said.