Unforgettable (Family Justice Book 5)

by Suzanne Halliday

  You’d think Draegyn St. John and his less-than-stellar family background would be the last person on the planet to key into what she was exposing but he did. And she loved him for it.

  “Darlin, the shithead prince might be having a kid but the baby angel is getting married too. Is that why you’re aggravating the piss out of Parker over getting formal about this thing? Do you need your parents here for it to be real?”

  She didn’t hesitate to answer honestly. “Yes. Partly anyway. And Sophie. Draegyn!” she cried. “Alexander is having a baby, I’m getting married. Life moves on. But Sophie. My god. What about her?”

  Drae tightened his hold and offered a hug.

  “I miss my sister,” she groaned.

  “Aren’t your folks making retirement noises? I thought that’s why you and Parker’s parents were redoing the Sedona house. I guess we all just assumed they’d show up here in the desert at some point. But Sophie? I feel like a dick for saying this but it never occurred to me to wonder about her. She’s always been so invisible,” he muttered apologetically.

  “Matt and Wendy know way more than any of us but together with my folks they have some unbreakable vow bullshit going on—that I suspect Calder is part of. They want all the attention to be on us and not them so they’re not saying much. But there sure are some intriguing clues including the huge concrete pad that got poured on the side of the house. An RV sized pad and a large, doublewide iron gate. I’m pretty sure it’s not so they can park a fleet of convertible Fiat 500s.”

  “For real? Well, fuck. Cristián and Ashleigh on an excellent RV adventure? Why am I not surprised?”

  “The family trust handles the vineyard and winery and according to Dad, everyone is happily on board with putting the current operating manager in charge of the day-to-day. That gives them their out. But Sophie? What does that mean for her? She was heavily involved in every aspect of the business from the soil to the grapes to the wine press and bottling. I don’t think she’d do well in a transition environment. As the only Valleja-Marquez on site, people will naturally look to her authority. She’d hate that.”

  Drae listened carefully and made agreeing noises as she spoke. He might not know Sophie the way Parker did, but he’d known her long enough to understand the points she made.

  “Have you asked your parents to weigh in? What do they say?”

  “Well that’s the weird thing. Each time I bring it up, Mom shuts me down and Dad keeps saying, ‘Let your sister make her own choices’. What the hell does that even mean?”

  “It means, little one, that Sophie knows what she’s doing. Your brother suspects she might be seeing someone because as he put it, she’s fifty shades of secretive all of a sudden. Clever avoidance generally means something is up.”

  She gave the Chixie Dicks less than a second of her attention as they geared up for their closing number. Cam motioned to her as he wandered through their group taking drink orders. Giving him a thumbs up meant she was choosing shit faced over a quiet buzz.

  “No joke, Drae. I’d pay money to see my sister in a happy, healthy relationship.”

  “Alex says the same thing. Tell you what angel. You focus on that fuck stick your dad is unbelievably letting you marry and let your parents, who are much closer to the situation, worry about Soph. I know I give Parker more than a little shit but he’s a good guy Angie. You could have married that other dude. The one that swished when he walked. What was his name? Well, no matter,” he grunted dismissively. “While I question your taste in men, you’re making the right choice. You two totally deserve each other.”

  She elbowed him when his snicker went from teasing to evil. “And you’d know all about that, wouldn’t you? Isn’t that your song? You and Victoria? Don’t you guys sing with the ‘deserve each other’ chorus?”

  Draegyn let out a good-natured bark of laughter and dropped his arm as he turned to check out his wife’s ass.

  “Elastigirl. Can you believe it? I swear she does this stuff just to fuck with me.”

  Tori chose that moment to display a mind-boggling Rockettes kick that made much of the little woman’s amazing flexibility. As if the high kick wasn’t funny enough, she very nearly took Brody’s head off his shoulders as he innocently sauntered by.

  “I better get over there before she does somebody bodily harm.”

  He turned her toward him and held onto Angie by her shoulders. “That outfit is one hundred and fifty percent provocation. My wife and I both think you are out of your mind for pushing this particular button with that ambulance chasing prick. If I were you, I’d be planning a forgiveness scene cause Sully? Yeah. If looks could kill.”

  He kissed her on the forehead and went off to rescue Tori from causing further mayhem.

  That’s when she saw Remy skulking in a corner with her gaze locked on a clueless Finn O’Brien. And what was Beantown doing as she gave him a Manson glare? Enjoying the vine-clinging flirtation of some obnoxious twit in a nurse’s costume. A cheap, twenty-five dollar costume bought at the Halloween store, that in no way fit or covered her obvious attributes.

  Remington Bissett was a strange bird. One she couldn’t quite figure out. An undisputed rebel, her cred was upped by an impressive resume courtesy of the U.S. military. According to Justice four-one-one, she could fly anything with an engine and had the reputation of a daredevil.

  Seeing the dark scowl on her face as she watched Finn made Angie squirm, because she’d also heard some gossip about Remy along the way. The sort of gossip that makes a woman uncomfortable. Whispers of assault and worse. Hushed comments about a bullying JAG advocate and how a military trial devolved into a disgusting ‘he said she said’ that left her with nowhere to turn.

  In many ways she was the perfect example of the sort of people who ended up in Bendover hoping to start over.

  People like Angie. When her life no longer fit, what did she do and where did she go? They were all more alike than their differences suggested.

  Like a scene out of a bad movie, she heard Randy Bell, the Dicks’ bass player, say something into the microphone about dedicating their last song to a lady named Remington.

  Finn’s eyes narrowed. The nurse got pushed aside.

  Remy switched her stormy glare from Finn to the stage.

  And then the Dicks launched into a hideous rendition of You Give Love a Bad Name—a Desert Thunder staple—that was met by the loud collective groans of Team Justice.

  The expression on Remy’s face as Randy belted out his pitchy anthem to a girl who looked like she wanted to drop kick his ass was worth the price of admission.

  Since Jace was nowhere to be found, Angie beat a swift path toward Remy, hoping she got there in time to avoid a scene. She didn’t know the woman well at all but she knew a throat-slitting glare when she saw one.

  “Hey! Fifty shades,” Angie barked when she was close enough for Remy to hear her. “Haul your grey ass this way,” she explained with a jerk of her head. “Ignore those lame fuckers. You belong with the Justice crew.”

  She didn’t wait for Remington to agree. Especially not with so many eyes watching them. Grabbing her by the sleeve, she tugged and forced the issue, dragging the unhappy woman away from the corner she tried to hide in and shuffled her quickly into the protective circle waiting for them.

  “Fucking asshole,” Remy murmured as the Dicks continued to destroy the rock anthem.

  “Who? Randy?” Angie shrugged. “He’s harmless. A little desperate maybe but no bite and barely any bark. What are you supposed to be anyway?” she asked. Eyeing Remy up and down searching for the slightest clue, she could only snigger. “Grey top, grey pants. I don’t get it.”

  Cam squeezed past them, winking gleefully as he handed off two dangerous looking margaritas. She’d known Cameron Justice for a long time. The one eighty changes in the taciturn loner’s behavior since Lacey shook up his world still gave Angie the giggles. Who knew that all this time he was secretly a laughing troublemaker with a prankster
streak worthy of Jackass?

  “Drink up, ladies,” he hooted. “Barry made these bad boys special. Something about your favorite tequila, Angie.”

  “Oh, Christ!” she hollered over the loud song with a chuckle. “Uncle Matt swears by his Don Julio. Shit’s dangerous.”

  Turning to a still scowling Remy, she offered her glass for a toast, clinked, and drawled, “To nipples, because without them, boobs would have no point.”

  Cam roared his approval, gave Remy a thumbs up and melted into the Justice crowd.

  Taking a sip, she went back for a follow-up when the delicious concoction washed across her tongue and forced an approving “Mmm” from her mouth.

  “God damn that’s smooth,” Remy commented. “Never was much of a tequila lover but I guess the top shelf has its advantages.”

  “I avoid the rock gut stuff. That shit gives new meaning to harshing my mellow.” Giggling lightly, she took another sip and smirked at Remy. “So. You were going to give me the four-one-one of the grey costume. What gives?”

  The excellent tequila may have loosened Remy’s usual restraint, because she went from tight-lipped to chatty right before Angie’s eyes. Throwing some pointed eyeshade at the stage, she sipped her cocktail and snarled an answer.

  “I hate this shit. If I wrote the rules, there’d be an automatic out written into anything involving socializing. Justice however,” she grated with clear irritation, “puts great store in partying as a team.”

  “Uh huh.” This wasn’t news to Angie.

  “Jace, that dickhead can just slap on a tux and be done with it. But you ladies up the ante so damn high with your fuckery that, well…you know it’s intimidating, right?”

  “Wah, wah,” she joked. “So shoot us for having a little fun. Now stop your bitching. Jace is in a tuxedo and we’re all dressed in character. Got it. So what the hell are you?”

  “Smoke,” Remy growled. “I’m smoke.”

  Whoa. Angie’s brows arched pretty damn high. Peering over the rim of her glass as she sipped the margarita, the ramifications of Remy’s unusual get up intrigued her.

  “And where there’s smoke?” she innocently asked.

  “Exactly,” Remy quickly replied. “Other people fear the fire. Not me. I am the flames.”

  Thankfully the god awful song wrapped up and the Chixie Dicks made their less than triumphant exit from the stage.

  “Thank god that’s over. Those guys suck.”

  Angie cracked up. “Spoken like a true Justice convert!”

  “I’m serious,” the other woman said with a laugh. “Thunder really does kick ass. Your boyfriend is a natural on stage.”

  She snickered. “Well he certainly does enjoy the spotlight. You should see him give a closing argument.”

  “Jace was telling me earlier that there’s been a personnel shake-up in the band. What’s that all about?”

  A frown moved across Angie’s face. She wasn’t convinced Parker’s grand scheme to up Thunder’s wow factor was such a good idea. Change wasn’t always doable when the key players were in competition with each other. Too many alpha dicks hogging the spotlight could lead to some serious shit.

  “Thunder’s bassist is moving to Colorado and with him goes our sometimes keyboardist, Dave’s wife. Big hole to fill. But Brody had one of his canine crew audition and that seemed to go well.” She paused and thought about what else she should say.

  “With one new guy came the opportunity to add a second guitar.”

  “Smart move,” Remy exclaimed. “Parker’s good but he needs somebody to riff with.”

  “Yes, well we’ll see what happens.”

  “Who’s the new guy? Another Justice plant or someone from town?”

  The sound system crackled and then began to boom with the familiar sound of the Star Wars theme song. Thunder was taking the stage as Barry stepped up to the microphone.

  “Ladies and gentlemen. Cowboys and cocksmen. Virgins and tramps. Take your hands out of your pants you fuckers, and give a Whiskey Pete’s welcome to the original purveyors of rocking out with your cock out…the one and only Desert Thunder!”

  The place went wild of course, and not just because the Justice crew knew how to make some damn noise. Thunder was gaining legendary status out here in their dusty corner of the Arizona desert. Every appearance was guaranteed to be a rocking good time.

  The Star Wars music continued. The first on the stage was one of the new players. Brody’s guy. Some dude named Berger. He was wearing a business suit and looked more like a car salesman than a rock bassist.

  Angie chuckled. There was going to be something awesomely awesome about Thunder’s other testosterone junkies sharing the stage with a model from the men’s suit warehouse.

  She spied Alex sliding behind his massive drum kit and heard Meghan’s shout of glee. Her sister-in-law’s kinky love for Alex’s drumming alter ego was also the stuff of Justice legend. Her brother’s soundproof rehearsal studio was the inspiration for the playroom she designed in her and Parker’s new home. It had been Carmen who filled her in on the dirty details one day when she stopped by the villa unexpectedly, expecting to find her brother tinkering in his tech cave.

  Oh no, the esteemed Latina woman informed her with a meaningful expression on her face. The Major and his lady were in the studio. Wink-wink. And the door was locked. Angie would have to come back later.

  Confused, she’d stood there like a mindless idiot until Carmen threw up her hands in frustration and tsk’ed over and over.

  “Meez Angie. Come on. Really? The room. It is soundproof and the door locks. Can you think of no reason why your brother takes Meez Meghan in there?”

  She snickered at the memory. Apparently the tack room in the barn wasn’t the only designated fuckery spot in the compound.

  Parker swaggered from the shadows. He picked up a guitar off the stand next to Alex and strolled up to the microphone. The Star Wars music was lowered as he started to speak.

  He looked at Berger long and hard, strummed a chord or two on his guitar and leaned closer to the mic and tilted his head at the bassist. “Anybody know who this motherfucker is?”

  Alex’s voice came across the sound system. “New guy. Doesn’t talk. Think his name is Berger. You hired him, man.”

  “Oh, yeah. Right,” Parker sniggered. Still strumming, he joked into the mic. “Bit overdressed, wouldn’t you say?”

  Berger didn’t react. He just stood there, like a bass playing robot in a fancy suit, staring silently.

  “Okay then,” Parker chuckled. “Nothing like a man of few words!”

  Alex played along and provided a classic badum-ching rim shot for shits and grins.

  “Got another surprise for you dickwhackers.” He strummed again and shot the crowd a cheeky grin. “Now that old Thunder Cock is married,” he quipped with dripping sarcasm as he flipped Alex off, “we’re expected to play nice with his in-laws.”

  Angie started to laugh.

  “So without further bullshit, welcome to Desert Thunder 2.0. Give it up for our newest band member, the half-ginger bastard from Beantown and co-owner of this shit hole, Finnegan O’Brien.”

  Angie almost choked on her drink when the Star Wars music was abruptly cut off complete with clever sound effects that made it seem like a needle scratching across a record. To be followed up by the ear-splitting Wagner classic, Ride of the Valkyries.

  The spotlight swung from Parker to the side of the stage where Finn was striding forward with his arms raised in triumph. At her side, Angie heard Remy’s sharp gasp followed by a tersely muttered, “What the hell?”

  The crowd went ape shit, enjoying the showmanship as Parker, Alex and Finn set up what would go down in the books as an epic clash of musical egos.

  Berger? He just stood there with a blank, unimpressed expression.

  Walking the lip of the performance platform from left to right, Finn smacked palms with the people edging the stage as the Valkyries shook the building. When he s
lid off the silk fighter’s robe of his costume, the stage lights made his muscular chest quite a sight. Parker looked at him like a head smack was a definite possibility. Finn on stage, half-dressed, was the cocky Irishman’s way of deliberately needling the band’s main guy.

  What followed was five minutes of thigh-slapping entertainment as Finn pretended to not know how to strap on a guitar. When Parker slid his until it hung down his back, Angie shivered from a lust missile scoring a direct hit inside her. She was endlessly turned on by her man’s rocker vibe. One time, she’d even sucked him dry while he practiced because what was hotter than a sexy man running his fingers up and down the neck of a guitar? Nothing.

  After getting the bare-chested Finn strapped in and ready to go, her exasperated lover marched back to his mic, pulled his guitar forward and growled like an angry bear. “Turn that bullshit off.” Parker’s tolerance for the thundering Wagnerian tune apparently had a limit.

  The whole room was laughing, shouting rude comments and basically having a damn good time. Exactly what Thunder was known for.

  “Can we rock out now?” Alex grunted into his mic.

  And with that, the theatrics came to a screeching halt as Finn ripped into a balls-out rendition of Guns ‘n’ Roses, Paradise City. Alex brought it all together with a powerful beat and Whiskey Pete’s erupted in an explosion of raucous approval. Finn certainly could play and he sang better than Axl ever did. She hoped the Cheshire grin on Parker’s face meant he was having a good time.

  Whenever Parker was on stage it was hard for her to concentrate on anything else except him, but something about the silent motionless woman next to her drew Angie’s attention away from the spotlight spectacle.

  Studying her profile, she was amused to find that Remy’s mouth was literally hanging open.

  Oh man. On some level this was crazy delicious! Finn O’Brien. Paramedic. Pain-in-the-Ass. Snarky fuck. Bar owner. Amazing chef and now a renegade rocker? Could anything be better?