Tempting Justice, Sons of Sydney 2

by Fiona Archer

  She didn’t waste time fussing over what to wear. A flowing peasant skirt in differing shades of blue and a white V-necked t-shirt worked fine. Small gold hoop earrings and some lip gloss, eyeliner, mascara, and a spritz of her perfume and she was presentable. Slipping her feet into a pair of tan leather flip flops, she headed down the hallway and into Heath’s kitchen.

  Seth was on one of the stools at the kitchen counter typing on a laptop. Next to him, Milly played on a tablet. Aidan, Heath, and Adam were outside on the back deck deep in discussion.

  And the fridge door was open. She glimpsed the top of a man’s dark head moving in a line as if he was trying to get a view of something. “Where did Heath say he kept those juice boxes? I can’t see them anywhere,” a gruff male voice asked from behind the door.

  Seth glanced up, catching sight of London. The corners of his mouth turned up before he answered. “Look behind the bowl of cut up fruit at the back.”

  “You’d think he’d have them in the chiller compartment. He’s so bloody logical about everything else,” the hidden man groused.

  “Uh, that’s my fault.” London put up her hand. “I moved the juice from the chiller last night to make way for some beer and bottles of mineral water.”

  The fridge door snapped shut, and London came face to face with Zach Justice.

  He was, to put it bluntly, the epitome of every sexy bad boy hero she’d ever read in her friends’ biker romances.

  And just like with his brothers, the photo in Heath’s room did not fully showcase the potency of Zach’s masculine form.

  Nor the watchful intelligence in his hazel gaze.

  “Hi.” She attempted a breezy tone. “I’m London.”

  “I guessed.” A flash of white teeth in his beard highlighted his smile. “I’m Zach. I hear you’ve met Milly.” He glanced over his shoulder to the little girl who grinned back at her. Two small plates, one with a croissant and another with a strudel, sat in front of her. “Your champion secured breakfast and she’s been waiting to eat with you.” He inserted a straw in a juice box and placed it in front of Milly, earning him a distracted thanks as the child played on the tablet. “Coffee?”

  “I’d love some, please. Milk. No sugar.”

  Zach retrieved a mug from a group that hung on hooks underneath the row of pine wall cabinets.

  “Dad and Uncle Adam had two muffins each.” Milly shared, her eyes wide. “But Uncle Seth told them they couldn’t have any more or they’d get big guts.” She slapped a hand over her mouth and giggled.

  Not that London was an expert on physical health, but a surreptitious glance at Zach’s physique—outlined to perfection in a muscle hugging long sleeved black Henley and faded pair of jeans—revealed he had no need to be concerned with his weight. The same could be said of all the men at the house this morning.

  “Hypocrite.” Zach eyed his brother as he poured milk into London’s coffee. “How many did you eat on your way over? I saw the crumbs on your shirt.”

  Seth casually brushed a hand over the line of buttons on his olive shirt and kept his gaze on Zach. “No idea what you’re talking about, mate.”

  London giggled and collected her coffee, thanking Zach. She walked over to sit on the stool next to Milly. “So, which is yours, honey?” she asked Milly, nodding toward the two plates.

  Milly’s gaze turned hopeful. “I like strudel.”

  “Then you’ll have it.” London lifted Milly’s choice closer to her before claiming the croissant.

  Seth reached to his left near the sink, grabbed a roll of paper towels and pulled off a few squares. “Here, kid. Sticky finger marks are no fun on a tablet.” He slid one down to London.

  “Thanks,” she muttered before biting into the crispy, feather light pasty. “Oh, yum.”

  From behind, the sound of heavy footsteps on the deck drew closer.

  Aidan dropped a kiss on her forehead. Concern darkened his gaze. “You okay, sis?”

  She hugged her brother. They often teased each other, but Aidan usually ran interference for her when Derek got all big-brother-growly over her occasionally zany, sometimes risky exploits in what she called ‘research’.

  Liam usually sided with Derek and Cooper. Her youngest brother was the tall, silent type who broke the mold for the male members of her family, living in California and mastering the world of economics.

  “Yeah, hon. I’m soaking up my coffee and chilling with Milly.” She glanced down at the little girl, who now had smudges of apricot around her mouth.

  Aidan gave her a squeeze before stepping back. “Good to hear.”

  “Can you help me down, mister? I gotta go clean up.” Milly asked Aidan, her hands up and displaying the sticky residue of her strudel wasn’t confined to her mouth.

  “You bet.” Aidan lifted her down and received a yelled thank you as the little girl hurried from the kitchen to a guest bathroom located off the hallway.

  Heath moved to the end of the counter. “Red, Aidan and I are heading in.” He leaned in and kissed her. “Zach will be here with you and Milly all morning.”

  Babysitting her. Heath didn’t say that exactly, but she guessed. And while she had a heap of writing to do that, for her, normally required solitude, she was grateful of the company.

  “Sounds good. After my coffee and a chat with Milly, I’ll go find a corner to write.”

  “So much for that firewall, mate,” Seth shook his head as his fingers flew over the keys on his laptop.

  “You get in?” Adam moved behind Seth, looking over his brother’s shoulder at the laptop’s screen.

  “Too bloody easy.”

  London sent Heath a questioning look.

  “Seth’s hacked the server for the building’s security at Henry Banks’s apartment tower.”

  Hacked? “But, isn’t that illegal?”

  “Yeah.” Heath shoved his phone into his pocket and picked up his keys from the counter.

  Apparently, that was all to be said on the subject.

  London wasn’t so sure. “You’re a cop. My brothers are cops. You’re all risking your careers here, not to mention Seth and Adam getting into trouble, too, for me. I’m a more than a little uncomfortable with that scenario. Plus, you’re a go-by-the-rules kind of guy. Hacking compromises your morals and—”

  Heath cupped a hand behind her head and pulled her close, so she was leaning across the counter on an angle. “London, someone killed your friend, and whether by accident or design, you were implicated. I’m going to do whatever it takes to get answers. You got me?”

  London could only nod, silenced by the unyielding determination in his voice and gaze.

  “Good.” Heath waited a beat before continuing. “Seth’s going to get a feed of the building’s surveillance cameras and see if there’s a record for early Thursday morning. We’re being smart in how we go forward. Seth’s knows what he’s doing.” He slid his hand from her hair, and she straightened. “You’re right in the respect that Derek, Aidan, and I have to tread carefully at work. We can’t go up to Reed and Snyder and ask them for a copy of any tapes or anything else to do with the case. But Adam and Seth have more freedom to get the job done. This way, they can erase their tracks as they go. Hell, I’m not above calling in the Bishops to get some answers.”

  Adam and Seth both chuckled as they continued to view the laptop.

  Bishops? Surely, he couldn’t mean—“You want to involve the Church?”

  Adam turned and grinned at Heath. “Fucking brilliant.”

  Heath gave his brother an annoyed glance before answering London. “No, I’m talking about Declan Bishop, business mogul. Also, I suspect, a major player in Seattle’s criminal underworld despite claims he’s legitimized the family’s operations. He’s a contact of Adam’s.”

  “You’re not a fan, huh?”

  “Not in the least. I’ll call later.” He dropped a hard kiss on her lips before nodding to the men and walking through the kitchen and laundry to the garage.
/>   Aidan squeezed her shoulder and walked down the hallway. Seconds later, she heard the front door opening and closing.

  Heath’s plan made perfect sense, and it wasn’t as if the men were untrained in their fields of expertise. However, that didn’t mean she would stop worrying about the risks they were taking on her behalf.

  She sipped her coffee, all the time aware of the three remaining men in the kitchen who’d overheard the conversation. “Guys, I know I may seem ungrateful here—and that’s not my intention—but I don’t want Heath jeopardizing his career over me. Maybe you could talk to him? Ask him to back off a little?”

  “London.”

  Zach, his deep voice still new to her ears, spoke first.

  He leaned forward; arms stretched in front and braced himself with his hands on the counter. “Heath is not a risk taker. Not when it can be avoided. But you’ve got to understand, five weeks ago, he stood beside Seth as Dillon held a gun to Harper’s head.” London jerked back as Zach’s words, delivered with a tortured roughness that entered his voice, and landed like a physical blow. “We saw first-hand what happens when you take shit for granted. Nobody’s doing that this time around.”

  “I-” She cleared her throat. “I understand.”

  From her side, she felt Adam’s gaze on her, and she turned.

  Dressed in a dark gray Henley, black jeans, and combat boots, he was, as ever, a commanding sight. “Last night I suggested you take a few hours to relax and that tomorrow would come soon enough.”

  “You did.” And she had.

  “Today’s here. We’re focused and taking action.” Adam’s direct manner mellowed a couple of degrees to something bordering on gentle. “Now’s the time for you to focus on what you need to accomplish. You’re a writer. Go write.”

  Sometimes a girl just needed to hear advice from a group of big, gruff Aussies who had the diplomatic skills of an exploding grenade.

  She slipped off her stool and sent each man a smile. “I’ll be around.”

  Grabbing her work bag and phone from Heath’s bedroom, she debated searching for his home office, but decided to head to the living room.

  Muted chatter between adults and a child wafted down the hallway as she set herself up on one of the two brown leather couches. The padding was firm-ish, not one of those couches a person sank into and needed a hoist to get up from. Thank God.

  The coffee table made an awesome mini desk. She slid the TV remote to the side and set down her phone. Next came her notebook—with its fabulous cover in hot pink with tiny gold polka dots—filled with snippets and ideas from her current project, and her Erin Condren yearly planner in the supreme-looking dark grey with pink and apricot flowers.

  Keeping up the bad habit of a lifetime, she chewed on the end of a ballpoint pen as she reviewed some of the scribbled ideas in her notebook.

  Ten minutes later, she dropped the notebook in her lap and sighed. She’d been re-reading the same notes repeatedly, but the words weren’t sinking in.

  Her concentration level was zilch.

  Was that due to being away from her desk where she preferred to write? Possibly. Louder male conversation filtered out from the kitchen. Hmm. More like her trying hard not to overhear whatever the guys were discussing.

  Maybe some ambient background noise would enhance her mood? She spotted the remote on the coffee table.

  With a few clicks the TV came to life, the volume set to the right level.

  Sliding her feet from her flip flops, she gathered a couple of the cushions behind her back and stretched out on the couch. Laptop balanced on her legs, she began putting a serious dent in her daily word count goal.

  At some point, Seth and Adam came to the doorway and said goodbye, which she returned. Zach and Milly stayed in the kitchen, leaving her to her writing.

  She made good use of the time, nailing a scene that had troubled her for days.

  The sound of her name broke her concentration.

  ‘…London Shaw went into hiding. Too add further insight, international bestselling author Angelique Dupree joins us live from her lakeside home in Seattle.’

  London swung her gaze toward the TV. What the hell?

  ‘Ms. Dupree, you were at London Shaw’s book signing on Wednesday night, the same night Henry Banks was murdered.’

  Angelique, her dark hair combed out to its fullest, heavy makeup in place and wearing a blood red dress, lifted her chin for the camera. ‘I was, Phyllis. And can I first say that I’m appalled at the tragic loss of my friend, Henry.’ She clutched at her chunky gold and pearl necklace.

  What a liar. She couldn’t stand Henry. Would make catty remarks about his appearance and quirks to her snobby writer friends.

  The presenter’s voice came over the screen. ‘Now Ms. Dupree, last night we aired film of the book signing, including London Shaw and Henry Banks having what some people have speculated on social media looked like a tense conversation. Did you hear what was said?’

  ‘No, I can only think that it was related to Ms. Shaw’s new project.’

  London froze.

  No. She wouldn’t. Please, no.

  Mindlessly, London shoved her laptop aside and swung her legs to the floor, perching on the edge of the couch.

  The presenter didn’t miss a beat. ‘What project’s that, Ms. Dupree?’

  Angelique looked down for a second, making a show at looking uncomfortable sharing her news. ‘It appears London’s abandoning readers of her teen romances and attempting to write a murder mystery.’

  London’s gut clenched. Heat washed over her, the feeling cloying on her skin.

  ‘Some authors don’t appreciate constructive criticism.’ Angelique sighed.

  London sprang to her feet. “That bitch!”

  She snatched up her phone and paced toward the living room’s front window, feeling boxed between the coffee table and the couch.

  “London.”

  She ignored whoever spoke.

  Who could she call? Fuck. She dragged a hand viciously through her hair. Think. She needed a contingency plan.

  Gloria. Her belly tightened. Hadn’t she rung her agent yesterday and left three messages—still to be returned.

  “London.”

  A big male body moved in front of her. Strong hands grasped her upper arms and firmed their grip when she went to move away.

  She looked up, seeing Zach’s face, his brows drawn in concern.

  “Girl, what’s happened?”

  “That throwback to ’80s TV hung me out to dry.”

  His frown only grew deeper. “Explain.”

  “An author revealed on TV that I was moving into a new genre.”

  “How’s that— ”

  “She revealed that it will be a different genre from the one my readers know me for.” Abandoning readers of her teen romances… “And implying I’m betraying them.”

  Her plan was to have a break for a year, then come back fresh to writing more YA.

  “Post a statement clarifying your position,” Zach suggested.

  “Yes, of course,” London gripped her phone tighter in her hand. “Except it’s now two days in a row they’ve been blindsided, and many readers don’t like change, especially when the news doesn’t first come from the author. And Angelique worded her delivery to create as much carnage as possible.”

  But her despair went deeper.

  “I’m not forgetting that the bigger picture here is my friend’s murder and right now, everyone should be concentrating on him and remembering what a great author he was.” Her voice sounded husky as a baseball sized lump of grief lodged in her throat. “Now isn’t about opportunities for publicity and self promotion.”

  Zach let go of her arms and stepped back. “Then say that.”

  She went still. It seemed so simple, and yet… “You’re right.”

  “No, girl, you said it first. I just provided some clarity” He waved to her laptop. “Get on there and do your thing.”

  Once s
eated and with the laptop set up on the coffee table, she looked over to Zach. “There’ll still be fallout. I mean, sure, Angelique was only on a Seattle based chat show, but she’ll share a copy of the interview on her social media. And like yesterday’s fiasco, it will be shared. People will be upset they didn’t hear the news from me.”

  “Life can be a bitch sometimes.” Zach headed back toward the kitchen. “How you deal with that shows what you’re made of.”

  And after throwing down the gauntlet, he walked out of view.

  London gathered herself, conviction in her actions having her sit just that little bit straighter. She clicked on her Facebook page. “Challenge accepted.”

  Ten minutes later, a statement covering the heartbreaking loss of her friend was posted on her website, Facebook and a link shared on Twitter. A tiny portion of the statement dealt with the unfortunate timing of a previous critique partner disclosing confidential information of a new project London was working on, and that she’d be releasing more details in a few days, but for now, she was remembering Henry.

  Twenty minutes after that, her mom and grandma arrived with a freshly made carrot cake, soon followed by Cleo who had the afternoon off from the bookstore.

  Five minutes after that, Milly had bonded with Estelle Shaw, declaring the seventy-eight- year-old’s purple batwing eyeglasses ‘the coolest ever’ and requesting a pair for her next birthday present.

  And this was all wonderful, but London couldn’t shake the fact she was in a constant state of defense. Her pen as the murder weapon, a sneak attack by a news crew at her house, and now Angelique revealing her secret project. Defending. Running. Justifying.

  The last time she’d felt this helpless was age ten when two bullies at school stole her new backpack and trashed all her homework. Her teacher hadn’t believed her and gave her detention.

  And here she was now, an adult, feeling just as vulnerable. This was her life. Dammit, she needed to do something.

  After checking that Zach and Milly were still occupied making a tray of sandwiches for lunch, she faced her mom, grandma and Cleo. “I need a plan of attack. So far, every move I’ve made is on the defensive, and I’m sick of feeling at someone else’s mercy.”