Dirty War: Dirty Justice Book Two

by N. E. Henderson

  “I know,” I start, feeling like the world’s shittiest person. “But—”

  She cuts me off, not allowing me to make another excuse. “Jack may buy it, but I don’t. Not for a second, Brianna.”

  My brother will believe almost anything my father tells him, so I’m not surprised he took my father at face value. Other than his wife, Jackson has never collided with the man like I have.

  “If Jackson isn’t worried, then why are you?”

  “Because I know you.” She crosses her arms again, waiting for me to break. And like that, the tears I haven’t allowed myself to shed spill over, showering down my cheeks like waterfalls.

  I’m yanked into a hug as Alana wraps her arms around, squeezing. I melt against my sister-in-law, bawling into the center of her chest.

  “Bri, babe, what is it?” Her strong, assertive voice turns tender.

  How do I tell her I lost a baby I didn’t even know I was carrying? If it had been Alana, I’m certain she would have known the minute she conceived. Me? I was fucking clueless. I didn’t get to experience the shock or the joy or the panic. My baby was gone before it was ever loved.

  Shudder after shudder rips through me. It’s worse than any of the stomach cramps I’ve experienced over the last two weeks.

  Two weeks. My baby has been gone for nearly two weeks. Two weeks tomorrow to be exact. Two weeks tomorrow that I haven’t held Gabriel in my arms. Gabriel.

  This isn’t fair.

  “Bri,” Alana calls out my name. “Please tell me what happened?”

  I’ve never heard her beg before and it’s a sobering realization. I’ve kept her and my brother in the dark too long. Guilt suddenly hammers down on me.

  “Honey, let’s go inside.”

  I breathe in her scent, letting the remnants of her perfume calm me. She smells of a light floral scent. I try to inhale it all in, needing her.

  It works and I’m able to step back, allowing her arms to fall away from me.

  I nod, taking another step backward and into my condo. She eyes me wearily for a beat before finally passing me, walking inside. Shutting the door, I turn around, placing my back against the wood while pulling in a deep breath air. Upon exhale, I push off and round the recliner and coffee table to sit next to her on the couch.

  “I called you all day on Thanksgiving and every day since. Why haven’t you answered any of my calls or my texts, Bri?”

  I look down into my lap. How do I answer that and where do I start? There is so much to tell and none of it wants to leave my mouth.

  “You’re worrying me. Do we need wine for this conversation?”

  “You didn’t give me a heads up that you were coming. I don’t have any wine.” I sniffle, wiping at my nose with my long sleeve T-shirt.

  “How could I?” she deadpans. “I haven’t spoken to you in forever.”

  “I know,” I start, feeling more guilt pile on top of me. “I’m sorry,” I say, apologizing once again. There aren’t any other words that could fix missing Thanksgiving with my family.

  “Just tell me what’s going on.” She sighs. “This isn’t like you. Is it a case? That kid you were caring for? What’s happened that’s obviously gotten you out of sorts?”

  I look up, inhaling a breath to give me the strength to say the words I need to get out. When I ready, I drop my head, looking into her green eyes.

  “I lost—” I suck in air, and it’s like pulling in tiny shards of glass, each piece nicking at my insides. “I had a miscarriage.”

  14

  “Oh my God!” Her eyes widen as her hand slowly goes to her mouth, covering her lips. “What? I—”

  She grabs me by both of my biceps, pulling me back to her chest.

  The tears are instant, coating my cheeks once again and I cry, letting it all flow out again. I bawl like I’ve never bawled before. Alana holds me, not letting up on her grip until I pull away. She’s reluctant to let me go, but does eventually, her hands slipping from me as I sit back up.

  “Why didn’t you want to tell me? I would have been here the second I knew.” Her voice cracks.

  “Please don’t take this the wrong way, but I had enough to deal with without you and Jackson flipping your shit over me getting shot.”

  “Wait a minute.” She takes in a ragged breath. “What!? What do you mean you were shot? You were shot, and no one told us? No one called us?”

  Her eyes flip with multiple emotions and it claws at my chest. The guilt starts to choke me, suffocating me.

  “When? Are you okay?” She scans me up and down, landing on my leg. My shorts have risen high enough in my seated position that she can see the bandage. It’s still healing, and I’ve taken proper care of it so that it’s mending well. Itches like a bitch, but I try to ignore the need to claw at my skin. That wound from the shot is the least of my problems.

  “It really wasn’t bad,” I start but quickly shut up. Her eyes light with fire.

  “Not bad?” Her face colors red. “Any gunshot is bad, Brianna!” My name comes off her tongue like a curse.

  “That’s where you’re wrong. So wrong.” The tears coat my cheeks again. I’d take another bullet in a second if it meant never losing Gabriel, or my baby, or even D. I want all three back. I want what was taken from me.

  “This is why you don’t need to be working the gangs and drug unit, or whatever it’s called, narcotics.” She slides away from me, throwing her head back against the headrest on the couch. I watch her blink rapidly, knowing she’s trying to shove back her own tears. Alana and I are alike in that way. Neither of us are quick to cry over things.

  I’ve always had the attitude of “what’s the point,” it’s not like you can always control the situation, and if bad things are going to happen, then it’s just life. It’s the cards you were dealt. That is until it happened to me.

  Another round of tears cascade down my cheeks. The control I once thought I possessed is gone as my emotions swamp me, taking center stage.

  I might as well tell her everything. I’ve gotten this far. There is no reason to hide anything else, and for the first time, coming clean feels like the right thing to do. It’s what I should have done weeks ago.

  “There’s more.”

  Her head rolls to the side, looking at me with dread in her green eyes. But just like a big sister, the mother-type that she is, my savior—she listens to every word that pours out about Gabriel being Drago’s son. I tell her about keeping that fact from him until my stupid boss had to open his mouth and be the one to disclose that information, which resulted in D not believing a word that comes out of my mouth. I could accept that if it weren’t for his son. Gabe deserves at least one parent to love him and want him. But Drago can’t, or won’t accept that he created a person.

  Before he and I slept together, I wouldn’t have believed it was possible not to remember the act of sex with another person. Now I know it’s possible, so for him to say it’s impossible that he had sex with Chasity Carlisle is laughable. It’s obvious it happened. Gabriel is proof of that.

  “How does he not believe Gabe is his? If you have a paternity test proving it, then why does he not believe it? Does he not remember fucking the source?”

  “He claims he’s never had sex with Gabe’s mother.” My stomach sours calling her his mom. She isn’t. If she were, she would have never handed him over to me or anyone else.

  Alana coughs out a laugh. “Just like a man,” she deadpans, shaking her head. Her loose blonde strands swing, making me take notice of her hair once again. It’s longer than usual and she isn’t wearing as much product as she normally does, if any at all. Her hair, her makeup, and her attire are always pristine. Not that anything is lacking. Her dress covers her body like a glove, hugging her in all the right places. But she’s less made up than her usual, and I like it. It makes her look younger without the heavy makeup or the tresses that are never out of place.

  I miss this Alana.

  For the first time in a long t
ime, I’m homesick for my family. And now I want my brother’s arms. He’s always been my protector, even when I didn’t need it. Thoughts from a couple of months ago creep to the front of my mind.

  I take care of what’s mine.

  I was so mad at him for putting a tracker on me without me knowing it. I should have known when he gave me that car he would have installed something like a GPS that would keep him informed of my whereabouts. That’s just like Jackson.

  I’m no longer mad. In fact, I’m grateful. He just wanted to make sure he knew where I was when I wasn’t close by.

  With Gabriel missing and I have no idea where he could be, I understand my brother’s need to know where everyone he loves is.

  After I finish filling her in on my sordid mess, I’m ready for a change of subject.

  “Why are you in LA?”

  I wipe the remnants of my tears on my shirt, hoping she didn’t fly down here simply because I didn’t show up for a holiday dinner.

  “I had a last-minute change of location for a business meeting, so it was the perfect opportunity to find out what was going on with you.” Her eyes turn soft. “Bri, why didn’t you call me? Why keep us in the dark when you needed family?”

  “I had Dad,” I explain.

  “Since when are you and Robert so close?” Her tone is accusatory. It really bothers me that my father doesn’t like my brother’s wife.

  “You act like I hate him.”

  “He’s never been there for you like Jackson and me. Why would you share that with him and not us?”

  “Mike called him, so when he showed up at the hospital, I didn’t really have a choice. And—” I pause, the words feeling foreign.

  “And what?” she barks.

  “Maybe Dad isn’t as bad as we make him out to be.” My dad wanted to step in and take care of me after I was released from the hospital. He begged me to come home with him. Robert Andrews doesn’t beg anyone, but he did for me.

  “Maybe you still have a concussion from hitting your head.”

  It’s then she stills. I watch her look around, eyeing everything visible in my condo from her spot on the couch. It hits me, she has just realized I was shot in here. This is where everything went down.

  “You need to come home with me. I’ll change my flight. I’ll get us both a ticket home.”

  “I’m not leaving.” I can’t leave. Like everyone else, why doesn’t she get it? “I’m not going anywhere, Alana. I have to find Gabriel and bring him home safe.”

  “Home?” she questions. Then she cocks her head to the side, her eyes penetrating mine. “And just exactly where is home, Bri?”

  “Here.” I bite out, challenging her. I’m sick of people thinking I’ve gotten too close to a child that isn’t mine. Okay! So I did. I know this and now everyone else does too. Doesn’t change one damn thing. I want him home, with me, or with Drago. I just want him safe and loved.

  Is that so wrong?

  “Jesus fucking Christ.”

  The following morning, I’m on my way to meet Eric. At about four o’clock this morning he sent a vague text message with an address that isn’t far from my condo, so I’m guessing it’s the address for the field office he works out of. Since it’s Saturday, he obviously isn’t opposed to working weekends. It’s a relief too, because while I’m out on leave I don’t have any other resources other than Eric to contact for leads on Diaz.

  Connie hasn’t returned a single call or text message. She’s been my partner for two years. Hell, I considered her a friend and thought she felt the same way. So, one would think a simple text asking if I’m okay is the least she could do.

  Mike, on the other hand, is another story. He called me last night, but I didn’t answer, letting it roll over to voicemail, which he didn’t leave a message. I almost called him back, questioning if it could have been about Gabriel, but I know that wasn’t it. At this point, I’m not sure if he would even tell me if there was an update.

  Eric phoned late last night, telling me he put in a request to his SAIC to get Tom to release Gabriel’s kidnapping case to one of his fellow undercover DEA agents. His partner I’m assuming, since he’s keeping his mouth shut on who is going to be searching for Gabe while we search for Diaz.

  To me, it’s all one and the same, but the DEA has a special task force that handles certain things alongside other federal agencies. Apparently, because Sebastian Diaz isn’t American, Gabriel’s case is considered human trafficking. Just the thought of that makes my stomach roll. He can’t be lost forever. He can’t, and I don’t think that’s Diaz’s goal. He’s just using Gabe as leverage to get D to concede and do what he wants.

  My cell rings.

  Grabbing it from the cupholder, I do a quick glance at the screen, seeing my brother’s name.

  “Hey.”

  “You know, it didn’t go unnoticed that you didn’t show for Thanksgiving, nor did you bother to call. So, what gives, little sister?”

  Is he serious? He sounds nonchalant, like Alana hasn’t told him anything that we discussed yesterday, and we talked a lot and late into the night. She kept texting on her cell phone, so I assumed she was talking to my brother.

  It was nice having her here. Actually, it was a relief getting everything off my chest. A small part of me felt it was wrong to unload so much on her. Drago crosses my mind for a brief second before I respond to Jackson.

  “Do you and your wife not talk?”

  “I haven’t seen Alana today. I think she’s still in New York. What does that have to do with this?”

  “New York,” I blurt out. “I dropped her off this morning at the airport. She showed up here yesterday.”

  How does my brother not know that? He thinks his wife was in New York?

  The same worry I had a couple of months ago creeps into my head. Are Jackson and Alana okay? Their marriage has always been solid. I don’t understand this. Suddenly it feels like I don’t know what’s going on in my own family. Then again, I’ve kept them in the dark about what’s been going on with me, so even though it doesn’t feel fair, maybe it is.

  “What the fuck was she doing in LA?” His anger cuts through my thoughts.

  “She mentioned she had a business meeting, so I’m guessing that.” He’s silent for a long beat, then he whispers something I can’t quite make out. “I’m sorry, what? Jack, I’m driving, so speak up.”

  “Kincaid and Declan,” he whispers. “It’s nothing, Bri. So, why no call to say you were working?”

  Am I really going to get into this on a phone call? Jackson deserves to know the real reason I’ve been avoiding them, but I can’t seem to get the words to move past my throat.

  “It’s more than just a case I’m working, Jack.” I call my brother by the nickname only his wife and I use. She stole it from me. He was my Jack before he was hers. When I was really young, I couldn’t say his full first name. I could only get the first part right. It only comes out on occasion now that I’m grown.

  “I’ve got time for my little sister.”

  “Since when does the all-powerful Jackson Andrews have spare time?” I chuckle, hearing his breath vibrating through the line. It warms my heart that my comment made him laugh.

  “Only for special people. So,” he prompts.

  “I need you to ask your wife. It really is a long story, too long, and not one that should be told over the phone. Plus, I just parked. I have a lot to get done today.”

  “It’s Saturday and you don’t work weekends unless you’re on-call. You aren’t on-call for another three weeks.”

  During mine and Alana’s talk, I didn’t get into being on admin leave or that my job is hanging in the balance right now. I had already said too much as it was. That would have put her over the edge. She already hates the unit I work for at the PD. She’d flip her shit if she knew I’m currently helping the DEA on a case.

  “Since now,” I admit. “Jackson, please talk to Alana. She’ll fill you in and then if you want to talk, and I kn
ow you will, call me. But know that I’m fine. Alana showing up was a really good thing and I should have told you both what was going on.”

  “Brianna,” he draws out. “You’re making me worry and I worry enough as is. Man up and tell me yourself.”

  “Jackson,” I whine. He’s right. I should, but sitting here hashing out the whole ordeal isn’t going to get me one minute closer to nailing Diaz or finding my boy. “You have nothing to worry about. I’m a grown woman that can take care of herself. If I weren’t knee-deep in a lot of shit, I’d come home and tell you, but I can’t, so talk to your wife.”

  “Why do I get the feeling I’m going to want to rip someone apart?”

  “Because you love me and are way overprotective. You’re the helicopter parent no one knows is a helicopter parent. You hide it well.”

  “I’m not a helicopter parent. What the fuck is a helicopter parent?”

  “Ask Alana that too. I have to go. Love you, big brother.”

  “Love you too, brat.”

  I press “end” on the call, dropping my cell phone into my purse, then push the door open and get out of my car. I stand, looking over the roof of my Audi, eyeing the unmarked building. I’ve driven past here multiple times not realizing this was the LA field office for the DEA. There is no signage marking the building. It’s a white two-story that’s quite inconspicuous. There are windows lining the upper and lower level and a glass door at the front with writing on it that I can’t make out from the parking lot.

  Walking around my car, I head to the door. Pulling on the metal handle, it doesn’t budge. It’s locked. It’s then I notice the keypad to my right and an intercom system. Eric didn’t mention I’d need badge access, so I either call him or press the call button.

  Reaching up, I press the white, round button and then wait.

  It’s at least a full minute before the door opens with Eric peeking his head out.

  “You’re early.” He swings the door open, gesturing for me to enter. “I wasn’t expecting you for another fifteen.”