Original Justice (Justice Brothers Book 4)

by Suzanne Halliday

  They sat in the dirt and devised five sick vehicles for their fireworks stupidity. The tube of peanut, a plastic soda bottle stuffed with paper, a hot dog that they covered with peanut butter and rolled in the red dirt, an old sneaker, a paperback copy of Jane Eyre that Parker had to read for school, and an old sandbag full of horse shit they scooped up at the stable.

  Good times.

  “We’re gonna catch hell for this!” he yelled over the sound of a random boom—the result of Parker lighting fireworks and hurling them into the sky.

  “They shouldn’t have left a whole box of cherry bombs where kids could find ‘em.” Parker shrugged like what he said made sense. That was his way. He made things up and blurted out stuff with authority. He could also argue with God and win the argument. It drove Uncle Matt crazy, and Aunt Wendy always laughed and said Matt got what he deserved.

  “If anybody has a problem, I’ll just say we were protecting Angie. Little brat gets into everything.”

  Alex snorted with amusement. Parker was right. The baby of the family was a serious troublemaker. She drove him and Sophie crazy. But he loved her, and she hung on his every word. Unlike Soph, who made it her job to correct him all the time.

  “I’d never let anything happen to Angelina,” Parker muttered. “Just making a point, that’s all.”

  A dust-up in the distance caught Alex’s eye. “Uh-oh,” he groaned.

  “What?” Parker asked. His head swiveled, and his friend squinted into the sun for a look. “Oh, fuck.”

  “Is that your new favorite word?” Alex asked with a snicker.

  Parker got all puffed up and grinned. “Yep. My dad said when I turned thirteen, I could start using it. Never at school,” he said with a finger up. “Never in front of adults,” he said with a second finger, “and never in front of my mom unless I want to be grounded for life.”

  They stood and watched the approaching dust cloud.

  “Who do you think it is?”

  Alex winced. “Does it matter? We’re in deep doo-doo no matter who it is.”

  Five or six minutes later, a four-wheel ATV slowed to a halt, and his uncle climbed off. Calder Dane lived in California and was only in Arizona for a short visit. The good luck fairy must be smiling on them because his Uncle Calder was the one person he could count on to be about as inappropriate as a person could be.

  And then the guy started yelling.

  “What the fuck is wrong with both of you?” He strode up to him and Parker with eyes blazing. Aggression poured off him. Slapping his hands on his hips, he glared at them.

  “How many times do I have to tell you? Never leave a trail and always keep your eyes open. Jesus, Wolf Pup. Learn how to operate in stealth mode, would you?”

  Parker tried to litigate their way out of Uncle Calder’s displeasure with a recitation of facts. “We were careful. Shut the door. Both of them. Didn’t leave any clues.”

  “Are you sure?” Calder snarled.

  Parker looked over at him, and Alex tried to find a single moment from their cat burglar raid when they overlooked something. He had nothing.

  “I’m going to let you in on a little secret, gentlemen. I think you’re old enough now to hear some blunt truths.”

  Alex stepped forward, eager to partake of his uncle’s wisdom. Parker’s face showed he was riveted to what he was saying.

  “Guys, no matter how sure you are, no matter how secretive and clever, one thing is always gonna trip you up.”

  “My dad says there isn’t a situation a good lawyer can’t talk his way out of.”

  Calder laughed, slapping Parker on the shoulder. “Dude. Believe me. Even your dad knows this.”

  “So what is this universal tripwire?” Alex genuinely wanted to know.

  “Women,” his uncle drawled.

  “Shut up,” Parker barked with laughter.

  Calder arched one eyebrow at Parker and shook his head. “You should talk. My niece stubs her toe, and you’re kissing boo-boos.”

  “That’s different,” Parker grumbled.

  “Is it?” Calder looked at Alex. “Angie was down for a nap, but where was your other sister while you were raiding the tool shed?”

  Alex gasped. “No! Are you serious?”

  Parker exploded and slapped his hands on the sides of his thighs. “Sophie was spying on us?”

  “You two are dumb as dirt.” Calder scoffed. “No spying required. Sophie realized you were skulking. She simply followed to see what was up.”

  Parker gave him a dirty look.

  “Oh!” Alex jeered. “So this is my fault? It was your idea in the first place.”

  Calder stomped away and went to check out the small wood crate they stole when they snuck into a locked shed.

  “Clean this mess up,” he barked. “Nothing. You hear me? Leave nothing.”

  Picking up the remainder of their cherry bomb haul, he bungee corded the box to his ATV and left.

  “Well, that sucked,” Alex griped. His shoulders slumped, and he shoved both hands into his front pockets.

  “Which part? Sophie being a snitch, or Calder taking our fireworks?”

  He scuffed his toe in the dirt and squinted into the bright sunny sky. “If I’d seen Soph lurking, I woulda asked her to come along. You know her—anything with fire.”

  Parker tugged his earlobe and looked thoughtful. It was a move he saw Uncle Matt do.

  “So what sucks is no more bang bang?”

  “Whatever.” Alex jerked his head toward the debris littered around the cabin. “Come on. Let’s clean up.”

  “Or maybe”—his friend sniggered—“we can fire these babies off?”

  Parker opened his hand and showed off three cherry bombs.

  “Dude!” Alex yelped and high fived the hand Parker threw up.

  Just before they lit the fuse, he stopped and thought a minute. “Hey,” he said. “Do you think he knew? That you still had some?”

  “Calder? Hell, yeah,” Parker replied. “He just rode out here to make sure we weren’t blown to bits and to shut Sophie up.”

  Alex considered what he said. Parker thought about stuff. He wasn’t just a jock like some of the guys at school. He was making a good point about his uncle. Calder wasn’t old—not even thirty yet. That meant he was still in the cool zone.

  “Let’s light this thing, and I’ll save the last two for Sophie.”

  Alex grinned at Parker’s suggestion.

  “Fire it up!” he agreed with a hearty laugh.

  They lit the fuse and hurled the little firework high into the air. It exploded with a pop, and they hooted like nine-year-olds.

  Getting into trouble at the Villa was his and Parker’s favorite summer pastime. He hoped that never changed.

  2

  Many Years Later

  Bangkok, Thailand

  “What the fuck is that?” Roman sniggered.

  “This?” Cam asked. He held up the souvenir he picked up earlier. “It’s called a Khon Mask. There were a bunch of them at that Buddhist Temple.”

  “It’s ugly,” Roman drawled. “Like you.”

  The taxi they were in hit a pothole and jerked them to one side of the car. “Get off me,” Cam spit as he pushed Roman away.

  “Give us a kiss, Jason.” Roman snickered.

  His friend laughed. “Tell me again why I put up with your bullshit?”

  Roman puffed his chest out as much as he could and smirked. “Because I’m the only one who sees you for what you are.”

  Cam’s eyebrow arched, and he fixed him with a dark look. “Careful, Bishop.”

  He laughed and slipped an arm around Cam’s neck too fast for him to react. Administering a gruesome noogie—just like his cousin Julian used to do —Roman gave the Justice tracker a ton of shit. Because he could. And because it was funny.

  Cam struck out, but Roman was ready and easily smacked him down.

  “Goddammit, Roman. Cut it the fuck out.”

  “See?” he quipped. “Y
ou’re a whiny pussy.”

  The second he let him go, Cam tried to smack him. He blocked the attempt and had a good laugh. “You should ask Sinjin to teach you some ninja moves before somebody finally kicks your ugly ass.”

  “I prefer a cerebral approach,” Cam declared. “Fancy moves and arm reach aren’t enough. Smarter is better. Pinpoint weakness—target—and let fly.”

  First, he cracked up laughing. Cerebral approach? Bah! Jason had a hard-on for anything even remotely disguised as fight club activity. The guy lived to smack the snot out of anyone stupid enough to challenge him.

  Second? Oddly enough, he agreed with his taciturn friend. A mindful approach was what being an intelligence gatherer was all about. Being smarter had benefits to firepower. FBI training and behavioral analysis were his interrogation calling cards. He had the ability to overpower someone, beat the snot out of them, and open fire. But he got more results the other way. The cerebral approach as Cam put it. Sometimes he felt like he was playing war chess. Moving pieces on a global board—trying to get the intelligence jump on some very bad people. That was how they’d win this damn war. Not with guns and bullets.

  “Where is Drae?” Roman asked. “You two are usually joined at the dick.”

  “He’s working on something. Sawyer’s here, and he’s leaning on the guy.”

  They looked at each other a second and then snicker-laughed. “Poor Sawyer,” Roman jeered. “Bet Drae wants something impossible too.”

  Cam nodded. “Cuban cigars and a bottle of Macallan 1979.”

  “Just one bottle?” Roman asked. He chuckled and stared out the taxi window. Bangkok was a bustling, colorful city. They all liked it here for one reason or another, which was why the team coordinated personal R & R time in a city known for being an attack on the senses and where you go to make bad decisions.

  In other words, the perfect meetup spot for Team Justice.

  “What is it with you and St. John?” he asked. “I gotta tell you, Cam. You two are a freakish odd couple.”

  “Isn’t it obvious?” Cam snarled. “He’s my evil twin.”

  Really? Hmph. “I’m listening.”

  Cam’s normal scowl hardened on his face. “He’s got it all. Money, Nordic good looks, upper crust schooling. All the things I don’t. But Jesus Christ,” he ground out. “He is one fucked-up unit.” He shrugged. “At the end of the day, me without parents and him with two, we somehow ended up in the same emotional shit soup. Evil twin.”

  “Ah, I see it now. Makes sense. He’s all right,” Roman added. “I just like giving him shit. That pretty boy face rubs me the wrong way.”

  “He gets more ass than all of us combined.”

  Roman shifted uncomfortably. Finding ass was never much of a problem for him. And then he married Vanessa because they had a kid on the way. After that, chasing pussy wasn’t on his agenda. Fast forward to a taxi in Bangkok. His wife and kid were gone—collateral damage of the global war on terror—but he hadn’t moved on. Not yet.

  Instead of focusing on his dry spell, he hammered away at St. John. “Sloat tried to tell the arrogant jerk that he needed antivirals if he didn’t want his dick to fall off. I thought Alex was gonna pee himself; that’s how funny it was.”

  “Yeah, I’m bummed Bryan got stuck in Germany. He said he had to get a certification or something.”

  “Medic stuff,” Roman told him. “When he gets back in the world, it’s straight to med school for him. Someday, Bryan Sloat, M.D.”

  The taxi turned as horns honked and people yelled. Their hotel was cheap, cheerful, and popular with tourists. At the front desk, Cam stopped to see if there were any messages.

  “Cameron Justice, Room 24,” he told the clerk.

  “New name?” Roman asked in a low chuckling murmur.

  Cam almost smiled—almost. “It’s good, don’t you think? Looks nice on a business card.”

  “A business card? Something you wanna tell me, Cam?”

  The desk clerk handed over an envelope, and they walked to the elevator. In the moving car, Cam wore a rueful expression as he explained. “Life after hell, Bishop. Someday, this shit will end, and we’ll all be facing down the real world. I have no intention of letting this fucking crap rule my life.”

  Their rooms were across the hallway from each other. Roman opened his door and blocked it from closing with his foot. He nodded at the envelope Cam held.

  “Is it Alex?”

  Cam ripped it open and pulled out a sheet of paper. “Yeah. Asshole is at some five star. With Sullivan. He’ll meet us at the bar tomorrow night.”

  “Rafe is with Domineau,” he added for no good reason. “Do you think they’re doing it?”

  Cam shuddered. “She scares the fuck out of me. The lady is cold as ice.”

  “That she is,” he agreed. “Rafe thinks he can change her.”

  “And that’s worked out how often?”

  Cam was right. Domineau had a tough outer shell—like Superman tough. Nobody knew what her Kryptonite was, but Rafe, the dumb shlub, was a romantic fool.

  He chuckled. “Later, man. Knock on the door when you want to grab dinner. Oh”—he snorted with laughter—“and no happy-ending parlors, okay? Not looking for a slob job.”

  “Then you can hold my wallet while I partake. No way did I haul my ass to Thailand for a nun’s weekend.”

  He chuckled and waved his friend off. In the privacy of his room, Roman dropped on the sofa, lay back, and put his feet up. Plenty of time for fuckery later. Right now, he was all about the rest portion of his R&R.

  “One, two, three, four, five,”

  “Can’t you count to yourself?”

  Rafe grinned and kept on counting as his game piece moved around the Monopoly board. Domineau was such a party pooper sometimes. Especially if she was having a good time. Good times were the enemy, so she had to find ways to either fuck it up or cut it to verbal shreds.

  “St. Charles Place. I own it. Your turn.”

  She snatched the dice and cupped them in her hands. Domineau studied the board as she shook the dice. Then she dropped them with a clunk on the board. Silently moving her game piece, she looked triumphant and announced, “Water Works. A buck fifty. Buy it.”

  He won the draw to be the banker, so he held up his hand for the money.

  “I need change,” she sniped.

  He needled her for fun. “Nope. Service charge.”

  “You need your ass kicked.”

  “Come on, man. Don’t tease! You know I’d love it if you tried.”

  “Dickhead,” she said with a partial laugh.

  She also eyed him critically for the thousandth time, trying to find some way to get one over on him physically. As if! Tall for a female, Domineau was an easy six-foot-two. But he was taller and much bigger. The team didn’t call him Muscle for no reason. If she tackled him, he’d sure as fuck enjoy the hell out of it, but she’d never win.

  They played on as he reviewed the current status of their non-relationship relationship. She’d been in and out of their base for the past eighteen months doing the usual unspoken shit that the CIA and their operatives were good at. He’d noticed her right away even though she had impressive blend-in skills. But no matter how hard she tried, it was impossible for him to ignore her.

  Things went to the next level—although carefully hidden—when a commanding officer, a guy they called Polaris, went off the rails. Domineau got drawn into the mess when he went bad. The guy got turned—war does that sometimes—and started issuing suspicious directives. The people she answered to asked her to gain his trust and find out what the fuck he was thinking. It went horribly wrong. The guy was fucked up in the head. He thought Domineau was on his team. A team he mentioned in the same sentence as the word jihad. He lost his command, and they tried to shove him out with a hasty discharge.

  Through it all, Rafe took it upon himself to keep an eye on Domineau. She might be smoke when it came to getting in and out of places unseen, but Polaris wa
s crazy, and he coulda tried to off her at any time.

  So they became friends out of necessity. She trusted him—sort of. Enough to let him close—just not too close.

  Domineau Rivera was an equal opportunity cynic. She believed everyone was fucked up. Her most of all.

  She was also smart and ruthless. Totally fucked up by comparison but in a couple of ways, she reminded him of a Star Trek character. Data. The emotionless team member with a heart of gold. Domineau didn’t care for emotions because they muddied the waters. To make up for whatever emotions lurked in her soul, she acquired a specific skill that made her effective in a war zone. She didn’t second-guess pulling the trigger. This was what they all did, and she was an active participant.

  None of that stopped him from seeing the good inside her even though she tried like hell to hide it. Too bad he’d seen her do random acts of kindness—usually with kids. That was what told him she was full of shit. And hiding. Hiding from herself and hiding from life.

  “They want me to go to Washington.”

  Her shocking statement jolted him from his reverie.

  “What?”

  She threw the dice on the board and flopped back on the sofa. Her hand swiped up and down her face a couple of times, and a rough sigh left her mouth.

  “Desk job. The director thinks Polaris compromised me. Not explicitly,” she hastily added when he growled. “But by bringing me into his delusion, my name is out there. You know how it is. They don’t like that.”

  “Fuck. When?”

  “Probably when I go back in April. I’m on that task force, remember? There’s a high level planned for the end of the month.”

  Rafe wasn’t prepared for Domineau to leave. Permanently. Something significant was between them. He was sure of it.

  His hand grabbed the back of his neck and squeezed. Fuck the military and all this bullshit, he thought.

  She looked at him hard enough for a frown to appear on her face. A flash moved in her eyes. He looked closer, trying to make it out. Was it vulnerability?

  He wasn’t an idiot and knew she wanted him as much as he wanted her. But she was unavailable emotionally, and he wasn’t interested in using her to scratch an itch. But that look in her eyes just now made him wonder.