JORDEN: (Justice Brothers #3)

by Taylor Lee

  He said to Emma, “Honey, this is Ms. Lundgren. She and I are colleagues, and we were discussing one of the most important cases either of us will ever have.”

  Emma put out her hand and said politely, “How do you do, ma’am. I’m pleased to meet you.”

  “And I, you, Emma.” Mary Ellen’s voice was strained and she made a visible effort to smile. Unfortunately, it got caught on her tightly pursed lips and looked more like a grimace. “Good luck on your game.”

  Emma curtsied slightly and smiled. “Thank you ma’am. But it’s not a game, it’s tryouts to see if I’ll get to play with the team.”

  Jorden shepherded the ten-year-old out of the room, and said over his shoulder, “Thank you for this unexpected visit, Ms. Lundgren. Please stop at my secretary’s desk. Cherise will see you out and stamp your parking ticket. Good day.”

  He and Emma walked out into the hallway. She reached for his hand and said in an anxious voice, “Daddy, tell me the truth, do you think I’m good enough to make the team?”

  Jorden hugged her up against him and said seriously, “Honey, that’s what tryouts are all about. But if you want my opinion, I think the Wildwood Wildcats would be the luckiest team in the world to have you on their roster!”

  ****

  Doing his best to focus on Emma, Jorden was relieved that her nonstop chatter didn’t require an answer. An occasional nod and appreciative murmur seemed sufficient to convince her that he was listening. It was difficult to concentrate, given his deeply unsettling conversation with Mary Ellen Lundgren. Her implied charges had hit him squarely in that vulnerable place that had not healed. The place that Francine knew only too well. She should. She’d created it.

  After seven long years, it was disconcerting that her return could rip the scab off the deep wound. As if he hadn’t spent sixteen years of his life dealing with the painful reality that was Francine. He corrected himself with an angry grunt. Make that Francine Justice. The name change was typical of Francine. She’d always known how to attack him where he was most exposed—his family. The Judge, his brothers, and most especially, his daughters.

  “Daddy, are you okay? You seem upset. Do you need to go back to work? I’ll be okay if you can’t stay for the tryout.”

  Jorden jerked himself to attention, frustrated at how easily Francine could knock him off his game. But, goddammit, he wasn’t going to let that happen. He turned to Emma, who was regarding him anxiously.

  “Absolutely not, half pint. I wouldn’t miss this tryout for anything. Hey, sweetheart, who do you think has been practicing with you and Chloe for the last seven years and had to drop the hoop four levels for you to get the ball through? You think I’d miss watching you show your stuff at the first tryout you’ve ever been in?”

  She sighed. “That’s just it, Daddy. I’ve never had to tryout before. I just got on the team by showing up.”

  “No, honey, you got on the team because all of the dads who coached the club teams would have killed to have you on their team. I was the lucky one who had an in. Not only did I get to coach you, but I got to have you for my daughter.”

  Emma obviously wasn’t convinced. “But, Daddy that’s part of the problem. You think I’m good because you’re my dad. I’m not Chloe, Daddy. We all knew she’d make the team. She even made the varsity school team.”

  “No, you’re not Chloe. You are Emma. That makes you the brightest, most loving ten-year-old who walks the planet. Remember sweetheart, basketball is a game. A game you’re amazingly good at. You got that, squirt?”

  Emma smiled her crooked smile, showing her full set of braces that were red and purple today. Jorden shook his head wondering which astute marketer had thought about brightly colored braces. Astonishingly prescient! Emma and all of her friends couldn’t wait to go to the orthodontist for checkups and to get the “in” color of the moment. Gone were the days of the boring silver clunky bands. Instead, every color of the rainbow and now even sparkles and smiley faces had taken hold. Jorden was impressed as he always was at how this innovative, style-conscious generation managed to meld the most utilitarian items to fit their quirky personalities.

  Contrary to Emma’s concerns about the tryouts, Jorden could have told her that she was a slam-dunk. He knew she compared herself to Chloe, as Chloe did to her. What neither of his daughters knew and never would hear from him was that Emma was by far the more talented player. She had an intuitive sense of the game that most young players, including Chloe, did not. Chloe’s insecurities held her back. Not Emma. Once she got on the court, Emma didn’t have insecurities. She just played the game. Brilliantly.

  Focusing on the tryouts allowed Jorden to relegate his challenging conversation with Mary Ellen Lundgren to a back corner in his mind rather than on center stage. It helped that he was about to see the person who had never been more than a square inch off center stage in his teeming mind since he met her. He sucked in a calming breath, glad that he was wearing a jacket. Nothing like showing up at your ten-year-old daughter’s basketball tryouts with a significant hard-on for the coach.

  Chapter 10

  Jorden’s breath caught in his constricted chest. Emma was on the court working through the circular warm-up drill that had been part of her life since she’d been big enough to bounce the basketball. Like Chloe, she was taller than most girls her age, and her expertise shone through in her almost unconscious ball handling. As important as Emma was to him, she wasn’t the figure that snagged his breath. No, it was the tall, redheaded coach pacing the sidelines who had his lungs fighting for air.

  Knowing that beneath Mac’s gym shorts and Wildwood Wildcats t-shirt was a lacy bra cupping a pair of lush breasts, and a minuscule thong riding up her ass shot his cock into high alert. And under that bra and thong? Was one of the sexiest and most beautiful women he’d ever attacked. He admitted with a slight grin that “attack” was the correct verb for what he had done to Mac last night. Rather than being embarrassed, he was proud of himself. Hell, how many men could have resisted taking her? Somehow he’d managed to hold off although his body was screaming for him to take her, deeper and harder than he’d ever taken a woman.

  God, just the memory of her spread out on the dining room table, her gorgeous cunt open to him, was enough to make him wonder how he had kept from fucking the hell out of her. But he knew why. It had taken him a full day to work through his anger at how she’d thrown him out that first night. How she’d led him on, told him she’d suck him off as long as he’d return the favor and go down on her. Like what level of hell would he have to inhabit to turn down that request? But then after she sucked him off like no woman ever had, she kicked him to the curb. Told him to lock the door on his way out. Talk about the epitome of a cock tease.

  He’d told himself and her that last night was payback, that he could also tease, drive her to heights she’d never been, then pull back. And, no, he hadn’t entered her in the way that they both wanted him to. But in retrospect, he’d done more. He’d loved that woman in every way he could without taking her. In the process, he’d come to know her luscious body, discovered secret erogenous places he doubted any other man had. He’d tasted her, reveled in her scent, feasted on the sight and feel of her beautiful body, and given himself more pleasure than he could have imagined without entering her. And, too bad for him, once more he’d left her with a raging hard arousal, not knowing how he could wait to have her again. So much for payback.

  “She really is something, isn’t she, Jorden?”

  Jorden started, and turned to see Paul Ojakangas standing beside him. He was dismayed that his assistant had seen him lusting after his daughter’s would-be coach. Before he could try to explain, Paul shook his head in wonder.

  “I’m amazed, Jorden. We all know how good Chloe is. We’ve watched her from the time she was ten years old. But I gotta tell you, man, that little Emma is a superstar in the making.”

  Relief flooding him, Jorden almost laughed out loud. Thank God he hadn’t tried to e
xplain to Paul how and why he couldn’t take his eyes or his mind off of Coach Durant. Looking back at the girls on the court, he spotted Paul’s daughter Sophie, Emma’s best friend, who’d played ball with Emma since both girls were in kindergarten.

  Affecting as casual a response as he could while keeping his still aroused state covered by his jacket, he agreed with his colleague. “Yes, Paul, she is. But, buddy, your Sophia is no slouch.” Embarrassed that he’d barely seen either of the girls practicing because he’d been so absorbed by their coach, Jorden barreled on. “I don’t think there’s any question that both of our girls are going to make the team.”

  “I agree. Which is a ten-strike for us. As much as I’ve enjoyed coaching the club team, I was thrilled when I heard that this new coach wanted to start a middle school team. Start keying them up for high school. From what I’ve heard, Coach Durant is a phenomenon in her own right. She has to be pleased that there’s this much talent in this school, particularly in Emma.”

  Jorden didn’t try to minimize his daughter’s skill. Donning false modesty didn’t serve her. “Thanks, Paul. Emma continues to surprise me, as she has from the beginning. The mystery of it is that she has no idea how good she is. She moves the ball down the court and then out of nowhere, from the most unlikely places and almost unconsciously, she shoots. And damned if that ball doesn’t go in.”

  Paul laughed. “A female Stephen Curry in the making.”

  “I wouldn’t go that far, but yes, even though I’m her father and no doubt biased, I know Emma is exceptional, as is Sophia. Which is why I’m grateful that when they make this team, both of our girls will have a terrific coach. Admit it, Paul, we dads can take them only so far before they need some professional guidance.”

  “Jorden, I have to admit, in addition to wanting to brag about our daughters, I tracked you down for another reason. We need to talk.”

  Hearing the strain in Paul’s voice, a current of unease streaked up his spine. Assuming he was outed, Jorden wondered how anyone, including his second-in-command at the Assistant United States Attorney’s office, could have known about his and Mac’s short but torrid relationship. After listening to Paul’s concerns, Jorden wished they would have been about him and Mac.

  “You know what a tiger she is, Jorden. When Mary Ellen Lundgren gets her teeth into a case, she tears into it until the flesh is unrecognizable. Unfortunately, in Mary Ellen’s limited, biased world, as long as the ‘perpetrator’ is a man, he’s guilty.”

  “Look, Paul, I know Mary Ellen Lundgren. I’ve worked with her on a number of cases. I’m not minimizing the fact that my ex-wife hired a man-hating bulldog for her attorney. But Christ, man, with the history that Francine has before the court, even Ms. Lundgren can’t change the ruling. For God’s sake, Paul, Francine was convicted of endangering her two minor daughters when they were nine and four years old. And for God’s sake, in the last seven years she’s had no less than four additional husbands. Not exactly the picture of a stable maternal figure. Oh, and don’t forget to add her numerous DUIs and other run-ins with the law.”

  “I know, Jorden. On the face of it, Francine trying to get custody of your girls is ludicrous. But dammit, man, we can’t underestimate Mary Ellen—or Francine. My understanding is that the US Representative from the Third Congressional District, Francine’s first husband, managed to get her criminal record expunged. No doubt the poor bastard wishes he could undo that ‘congressional’ manipulation of the law, given that she divorced him post-haste once she got what she needed from him. Unfortunately, thanks to Congressman Carter’s interference, the only thing Francine Justice has on her record is the child endangerment judgment.”

  “Only?! Jesus, Paul, no court in the land would give custody of minor children to a parent convicted of endangering them.”

  “I agree. Unless the judge that Mary Ellen Lundgren has managed to get the case before happens to be Judge Sylvia Mortenson, who as we both know on a man-hating scale of one to ten comes in at ninety-nine.” No doubt seeing the shock on his face, Paul added with a sigh, “And, yeah, Jorden, if that ‘man’ happens to be the Assistant US Attorney for the Ninth District, I think we can safely conclude that her malice alone would break the scale.”

  Jorden blew out a deep sigh. Much as he hated to admit it, Paul had reason to be concerned. His battle against Sylvia Mortenson for the AUSA appointment had been hard fought. He’d won fair and square. His credentials far exceeded Judge Mortenson’s, but he acknowledged that having the Judge as his grandfather had helped him seal the deal. Outraged, Sylvia Mortenson had screamed to anyone who would listen that Jorden was appointed for two reasons. The first was that he was the grandson of the wealthiest man in the state, a former judge who’d been headed for the US Supreme Court. The second reason, and more damning in Sylvia’s skewed worldview, was that he was a man.

  “Okay, Paul, forewarned is forearmed. Having both Mary Ellen Lundgren and Sylvia Mortenson on her side definitely makes my case against Francine more difficult. But don’t forget, no matter what happens, Francine is her own worst enemy. She will manage to fuck up her chances to win without any help from me. No one looking at the two of us will conclude that Francine is the better parent.”

  “But, man, that’s not what the court will decide. From what I’ve seen of the petition, at most, she wants partial custody. Apparently, she bought an expensive condominium on the shore of Lake Superior close to the girls’ school. Her settlement income from her last three marriages more than documents her ability to care for the girls financially. She doesn’t even have a misdemeanor on her expunged records. All prove that she has the wherewithal to be a parent. Remember, the issue is not that she wants to take the girls from you, Jorden. At least at this point, she’s not petitioning the court for custody, she just wants the ability to see them without your permission.”

  Sensing Paul’s intention, Jorden exploded. “Goddammit, Paul, you know once the camel, or in this case the snake, gets its nose under the tent there’ll be no stopping her. Surely you aren’t recommending I go along with this? Hell, man, you know Francine. You’ve been there since the beginning. You know if I give her an inch, she won’t just take a mile, she’ll make a grab for the whole damn continent.”

  “I agree, it’s a risk. But consider. Since Francine aligned with Mary Ellen Lundgren, and worse, Judge Mortenson, who’d cheerfully feed your prick to a pack of ravaging dogs, this might be a time to make a minor concession.”

  Paul hesitated, then added with a hard sigh. “Not to pile it on, Jorden, but there’s another factor to consider. Hate to tell you this, but they have a statement from Chloe confirming that she would like to spend time with her mother.”

  Jorden did his best to cover his shock. Chloe siding with Francine? It couldn’t be. “I don’t understand, Paul. That can’t be. Unless…unless Mary Ellen got to her somehow and convinced her that her mother wanted to see her. Chloe’s not strong, like Emma. She’s more easily influenced. Even so, if I find out that Mary Ellen is contacting Chloe without my permission…”

  Paul threw him a questioning glance. “I dunno, Jorden. We both know that Mary Ellen isn’t going to do anything to jeopardize her case. I can’t imagine that she would seek out Chloe. Now, she might just ‘happen’ to run into her or…look, Jorden, like you I have a teenaged girl. Marcia and Chloe are best friends. They talk, and sometimes they even talk in front of their parents. Let’s face it. Francine is a pretty impressive woman, at least through sixteen-year-old eyes. She’s gorgeous, dresses to kill and has a runway model’s body. All things that might impress an easily influenced teenage girl.”

  At first Jorden dismissed Paul’s implication out of hand. But then acknowledging that Chloe had already met with her mother without his permission, and had asked him to invite her to the birthday party, Jorden conceded the obvious. Even though he had impressed upon her that she needed his permission to see Francine, Chloe had disobeyed him before. And now it looked likely that she had again. The
festering wound that Francine planted in his psyche shouted out a warning. It reminded him that he’d been foolish to think that he’d forever shut her out of their lives seven years ago when he got sole custody of the girls. Unbidden, Francine’s drunken threat at the birthday party flashed in his mind. Like punching a clown bop bag, no many times he hit her and thought she was down for good, Francine kept popping back up. This time she’d done it with help from his daughter.

  Chapter 11

  “Daddy, did you see me? I made six free throws!”

  “Yes, Emma, I saw them. I also saw those two three-pointers that you made from the half court, you little scallywag!”

  Mac stepped further back, hoping that she could somehow avoid talking to Jorden, which she conceded was unrealistic. She’d known he was in the stands when Emma bounced onto the court and casually mentioned that her “daddy” had brought her. While it was perfectly understandable that he would bring the irrepressible ten-year-old to the tryouts, the idea of seeing Jorden after what she’d done last night horrified her. She honestly didn’t know how she could face him.

  Throughout the tryouts, she’d managed to focus on the young girls who were waiting for her to make or break their hearts. Or more likely, their parents’ hearts. It was astonishing to her that even at this young age, these fifth graders were facing impossibly high standards set by their parents and many times themselves. Preceding the tryouts for the middle school team, she had no fewer than eight calls from parents wanting to introduce themselves. The more overt ones flatly told her that their daughter should make the team; the less obvious ones merely mentioned how pleased they were that she’d agreed to coach the insipient team and offered to help any way they could. Particularly if their daughters were on the team.

  The only parents she hadn’t heard from were the two men striding toward her: Paul Ojakangas, Sophia’s dad; and Jorden Justice, Emma’s dad. Among the myriad ironies pummeling her was the fact that Sophia and Emma were the only girls who could make Mac’s team with one hand tied behind their back.