Desert Angel (Family Justice Book 2)

by Suzanne Halliday

  “Oh, hey Angel.” He chuckled with mild surprise as he removed the glasses. “Didn’t expect to find you here.”

  “Um . . . Meghan’s taking a shower,” she mumbled. Oh, my god! What the hell was wrong with her? No hello? No calm, cool disinterest that he was there?

  Turning away as if she wasn’t even there, he headed for the welcome basket and dug through it. “Any chocolate lurking in there or did you already snag it?”

  “What?” she barked. “No! Of course, not. That’s Meghan’s basket.”

  Seriously. What the fuck was wrong with her? He was just being Parker. Teasing her about stealing sweets. She should have laughed off the comment instead of reacting like he’d accused her grand theft.

  “Whatever,” he replied with a dismissive shrug. Tuning her out, he dropped into an easy chair, reached for the remote control to the TV, and started channel surfing while Angie stood there gaping at him. He was acting like she was of no more interest to him than a commercial about Pampers.

  With a news program set to mute, he glanced nonchalantly around the cottage. “What’s all that shit?” he asked, nodding to her overflowing binder. “You still carry a slam book?” The snicker accompanying the sarcastic jest was like fingernails on a chalkboard.

  A slam book? Really? Was there some reason why he was treating her like she was ten?

  Maybe because that’s how you’re acting, you stupid shit, her inner voice scolded.

  Glancing down, she saw her fingers clutching the ends of her sleeves until the fabric almost covered her hands. Standing there in the huge sweater and short skirt, Angie felt like someone playing dress-up with the wrong clothes.

  Feeling completely put off and awkward as hell, she unwound the scarf from around her neck and pointed at the notebook with the wide Velcro flap stammering, “Um, wedding stuff.”

  “Oh?” He considered the sloppy binder for a moment and said, “Let’s see then. Show me what you got, Angel.”

  His devilish smirk cut through her nervousness. Say whaaat? Arching an eyebrow, she crossed her arms and cocked a hip, trying very hard to make it seem like she was looking down her nose at him.

  “Fat chance of that, counselor. I could show you, but then I’d have to, uh . . . hurt you. Very top secret stuff.”

  He grinned and tossed the remote aside. When she shifted away, he reached behind her and grabbed the binder with a theatrical laugh.

  He chuckled. “Better luck next time.” When she tried to grab it back, he swatted her hands away and said, “Uh-uh-uh. Best man’s prerogative!”

  “There’s no such thing!” she shrieked, the arms of her baggy sweater flapping like batwings.

  He ripped at the Velcro and the book fell open to a section loaded with pictures and clippings. He looked at the unorganized mess for a minute then gave an appreciative whistle and drawled, “Whoa.” Looking at her with wide, surprised eyes, he added, “Is that what I think it is?”

  “Shh! It’s still a surprise,” Angie squawked in alarm, looking over her shoulder to make sure Meghan wasn’t around.

  Parker nodded briefly, watching impassively as she snatched the binder away from him and rather dramatically shut it.

  “Hell of a surprise.”

  His voice gave nothing away, but she had the distinct feeling he was impressed with the tiny view he stole of Alex’s upcoming wedding.

  “Meghan will love it,” she defended.

  He chuckled. “Hell, baby girl, I love it.”

  Oh. He loves it? Sweet tingles of excitement took hold of her. “Really?”

  “Yeah. And you’re right. Irish will, too.”

  Hiding her flustered expression, Angie lowered her head and let some hair fall around her face. She didn’t want him to know how pleased she was by his reaction.

  From the moment she’d taken over the wedding plans, Meghan easily approved every suggestion and had actually brought very little to the table beyond her insistence that the event be dignified. The spiritual aspect held more significance than the romance, and despite the fact that she could afford to have Elton John sing at the reception if that was what she wanted, she was far more interested in the actual ceremony than the party afterward. Made being the planner a walk in the park.

  So, with the help of Meghan’s hilariously kickass mother, Angie had come up with a wow factor that was going to blow the former teacher’s mind, which in turn would make Alex a very happy man. Win-win.

  After a long minute of silence, he looked at her sideways and winked with a grin. “Fuck me, Angel! That’s some impressive shit. Hell, honey—you can plan my wedding if that’s the kind of ideas you have.”

  You know what? She wasn’t a kid anymore and she wasn’t stupid. He was totally fucking with her and having a good time doing it. Ignoring her? And then saying, Fuck me? Plan my wedding? Unbelievable, this guy. Would kicking him in the shins be overkill?

  Angie couldn’t help herself. She glared at him. The other night he was all like, can’t we be friends and then the embarrassing make-out in public catastrophe at Pete’s only to turn up here wearing a general air of dismissal. And now he was going to dive-bomb her with a precision attack of very specific innuendos intended to get a reaction. Was he kidding?

  Meghan chose that moment to awkwardly bustle into the room after flinging open the bedroom door like she was leading a SWAT team attack and then kind of stumbled to a halt.

  “Oh my god, Parker! Thanks for hanging out while I freshened up.”

  Parker jumped to his feet the moment Meghan appeared and went straight to her for a big hug.

  “Dammit, Irish.” He chuckled. “You get more beautiful every day. Are you sure I can’t steal you away from the Major’s moldy ass? Y’know . . . it’s not too late . . .”

  “Shut up, counselor.” Meghan giggled as she pushed him away.

  Angie was not at all happy to hear Parker tease the other woman about running off with him. It was a jest, of course, but the minute she heard the words, a reflex of possessiveness shot through her. Excuse me, universe, she griped. Was that really necessary?

  Parker suddenly groaned like he’d been shot and clutched at his chest with a great deal of dramatic flair.

  “Fuck,” he ground out. “You’re killing me here, Irish. You know the bro code requires me to report that you used the prohibited shut up expression.”

  Meghan straightened, her expression stern. “Oh. My. GOD!” she growled. “And what would you know about that, Mr. Sullivan? Was it in that damn prenup?”

  “Uh . . . hang on,” Angie croaked, one hand bouncing atop the fingers of her other hand as she made the timeout motion. “Prenup? Bro code?” she asked, her eyes darting toward Parker who was standing there with an amused expression. “What am I missing?”

  After a barely disguised humorous wink, Meghan raised one eyebrow at her and grumbled, “Your brother has control issues.”

  Control issues? She almost snorted out loud. Damn straight, he had control issues. Alex didn’t have what you would call a laid-back attitude.

  “Mmmm,” she wondered out loud. “Would this have anything to do with what we were talking about? Y’know,” she half-shrugged, “all that nonsense about demerits.”

  Meghan didn’t laugh, but she did crinkle her nose and slightly nod. Really? Well, shit! This could be fun.

  Giving Red a heavy look, she playfully pushed Parker into an easy chair and hovered over him. Meghan also closed in and stood there, arms crossed, with a barely contained smile.

  CHUCKLING WHEN ANGIE GAVE HIM a good shove, Parker sank into an overstuffed chair and took in the women bearing down on him like two detectives choreographing an interrogation. He wondered briefly which one would play good cop and who would be the bad one.

  Both women crowded close, pinning him in place. He put his arms along the sides of the chair and dug in. Whoa. Tag teamed. Fucking awesome.

  “Now you know,” Angie simpered with an outrageously flirty growl, “bro code notwithstanding . . .�
�� The look of smug triumph she flashed turned his sex to stone. Heavy stone. “There’s another code that trumps the bro.”

  He arched an eyebrow and totally got off on watching her flawless performance. Little witch! He loved that she openly taunted him. Hey, what the fuck, he figured. She’d earned the right after how he’d mishandled her the last time they were in the same room. And besides, how bad could a penance be that gave a guy a hard-on in record time?

  Angie looked at Meghan as the two women bobbed their heads in sisterly unison. Slamming her hands upon her hips, she moved in for the verbal kill. God. He loved being a lawyer. Knowing how to read body language and lay out a case gave him an advantage, but with Angie, it helped him to stay on his toes because she was a full serving and then some, even when she was being quiet.

  “Nothing comes before a little sister’s right to snitch. I believe that’s called . . . um, what’s it called, Meghan? You’ve got brothers. You know what I’m talking about.”

  Irish smirked and gave him some minor stink eye. “I believe it’s called the Nanny Nanny Boo Boo Clause.”

  Oh fuck! Parker started hooting with laughter. He wasn’t quite sure where they were headed with this, but it was amusing as all hell.

  Angie got right up in his face so fast that he flinched and quickly sat back.

  “You won’t be laughing, counselor, after I tell my big, bad, overprotective brother that you were taking liberties with his woman. Suggesting she ditch him for you, Parker?” She made some disgruntled sounds and rolled her eyes at him.

  Uhhhhh . . . what the fuck?

  He looked away from Angie’s self-satisfied smirk and found Meghan quietly snickering. Why the hell didn’t women run the world? Someone needed to explain that to him because in record time they had shut him down. It was pretty goddamn funny as far as Parker was concerned.

  Irish muttered, “No one knows better than you do what a fuddy duddy the Major can be.”

  Not laughing was really, really, REALLY hard. Did she just call her fiancé a fuddy duddy? Absolutely fucking priceless.

  “Ohhh, you ladies are good!” He chuckled.

  “Thought you’d see it our way.” Angie snickered, turning for an enthusiastic high five with Meghan.

  “Now, wait a minute, wait a minute, wait a minute,” he drawled. “Not so fast. I have a counter closing argument.”

  “So?” Meghan wisecracked. “Is a rebuttal more important than your balls?”

  Goddammit, Alex Marquez was one lucky fucking bastard! She could throw down with the best of them!

  It was Angie though, who brought the house down with one pithy and very suggestive remark.

  “Hold on, hold on. His balls?” she squeaked at Meghan. “I’m afraid I’m going to have to plead for his balls. They may still prove useful.”

  Apparently, that was the funniest comment ever because the two women laughed loudly and ogled him as if he was a designer handbag marked fifty percent off.

  “You two are scaring the shit out of me,” he mumbled.

  Meghan laughed and swatted him on the arm. “Relax, Parker. We’re just fucking with you. Go ahead and rat me out to your butt buddy.” She snickered. “But then don’t be surprised when I get a headache every time the band plays.”

  Looking at him like she’d just announced he had detention every Friday for the next six weeks, he had to hand it to her. She was in every way that mattered a female version of his best friend. Quick. An edge of sarcasm dripping from every statement. Vulgar as fuck and funnier than a comedy marathon.

  He came back with a pithily stated, “Not so fast, Irish. This is where we negotiate. A plea bargain.”

  She rolled her eyes and snorted. “Did you hear that, Ang? He wants to bargain!”

  Angie had taken up a spot near the open doorway. In the soft light of early evening, she looked positively angelic. She was still mostly avoiding his eyes, but he was okay with that. Pretty soon he’d have her undivided attention.

  “Sheesh,” she muttered with a brisk shake of her head. Fiddling with her long braid, she half-smiled at Meghan. “What is it with the demerits and the bargaining? Guess Victoria is on to something, huh?”

  Uh, yeah. Whatever. Girl speak. Women talk. He didn’t stop to try and decipher what they were jabbering about. He was already on to other things. Shit. He had a plan to put into action!

  With a heavy dose of lawyerly gravitas he spelled it out. “I will meet your forbidden shut up plus ignore the imaginary groping you made up in your mind in exchange for . . .”

  He crooked his finger to draw Meghan near enough for a whisper. Ever game to play along, she grinned and dutifully leaned in close.

  “This better be good,” she whispered with a soft giggle.

  Swiftly assessing that Angie was out of earshot, he whispered back, “Thunder Foot gave me permission. I want to take Angie out so we can talk. Alone.”

  She nodded imperceptibly then straightened with a shocked gasp and smacked him on the shoulder. “No, I will not give you a pair of my panties!” she screeched. Looking at him with theatrical horror, Meghan clutched at her throat like an outraged innocent being propositioned for the first time.

  Next, she whirled to Angie and let loose. “He wants to play with my underwear! Can you believe it? That makes him a pervert, right?”

  Parker was stunned by Meghan’s insane outburst. Frozen with shock, he couldn’t move or react. This was surreal.

  Upon hearing Meghan’s screech, Angie bolted from the doorway with a look of utter horror on her face. White as a sheet, she moved her mouth but no words came out.

  Dead silence could be really, painfully loud. After a long minute, Meghan sighed heavily and looked back and forth between him and an open mouthed, gaping Angie.

  “Okay,” she snapped. “What the hell is wrong with you two? C’mon, guys. That was funny as shit. Tori and Lacey would be peeing themselves if they were here. But you two?”

  She turned to Angie and said, “You look like someone just ran over your dog.”

  To Parker, she said, “And you? You’re the biggest surprise of all. If you start crying, big guy, I’m throwing you out.”

  “Oh, my god,” Angie mumbled in a choked voice. “You were kidding?”

  “Of course, I was kidding,” Meghan jeered. “Well, not about the pervert part. I don’t know for sure, but I’m pretty certain he’s a complete perved-out freak.”

  Parker glared at Meghan. Oooh. He was sooo getting her back for whatever she was up to.

  “But I thought you’d laugh at the underwear thing. I mean, I thought you both would. But instead you each reacted so . . . strangely.”

  More silence. Fuck. Parker wasn’t capable of anything right then except remembering to breathe. Yeah—that he was doing.

  Meghan went and put an arm around Angie for a brief hug, before rubbing between her shoulder blades. “Honey, I know we’re not sisters yet, but I feel like we already are. I’m not blind. There’s something going on here with you two. I care about both of you,” she said as she looked at him.

  “Meghan,” Angie whispered.

  “Nope. Sorry. Alex wants you two to settle up. Can’t make it any plainer than that. Whatever this is, you guys have to figure it the hell out.”

  Parker wanted to hug Meghan for what she was doing. He envied his old friend, for Alex had found someone who was truly his equal and so eerily compatible that it made him pause. Big Daddy really had found his Lady Mama. As a team, they would be invincible.

  He stood up slowly and gathered his thoughts along with his voice. Angie was looking everywhere but in his direction while Meghan was encouraging him with her expressive eyes.

  At Angie’s homecoming, he’d been so overwhelmed and desperate that he was willing and had even tried to take full measure of the blame for what happened and goddamn beg for her forgiveness. She’d thrown it back in his face so he was done with that shit.

  Yeah, so maybe he was still overwhelmed and desperate, but he was
done playing the wimp. Screw that. They moved forward on his terms. Taking the initiative, he rather gruffly spoke while sliding his hands into his pants pockets.

  “It’s well past time we talked, don’t you agree, Angelina?”

  Challenge served.

  Her sapphire hued gaze swung his way slowly.

  “It’s how you make your living, after all,” she commented in a flat voice.

  Challenge accepted.

  He was going to let her have that one. Was easier than the exhausting back and forth that would fire up if he played her game where every question was met with snark. She was trapped. They both knew it. No need to beat it to death. Nobody ever won in those cases.

  “Meghan,” he said. “What’s your dinner plan?” Parker didn’t doubt for a nanosecond that she’d have an answer—and a good one—at the ready.

  “Well, the Major is having dinner at the cabin so I’ll be video chatting with Cam, Lacey, and Dylan, too. They’re taking care of Alex for me while I’m occupado. I was going to do room service for something light and then spend the evening with my family through the wonder of technology!”

  He hoped that she understood the light of thanks shining in his eyes.

  No flowery words. No hemming and hawing. No jumping through any hoops. Just put it out there. This is who you are, he thought. Don’t even bother to fuck around.

  “That makes it simple then,” he said. “So, dinner it is, Miss Marquez. Grab your purse and let’s go. I know the perfect place.”

  She frowned, sputtered, squeaked, and twisted her fingers. Angelina Marquez at a complete loss for words. Wow. Under different circumstances, her reaction would have been amusing.

  Before he knew it, Meghan had shoved Angie’s purse into her hands and pushed them out the door. During the walk to his car, they’d been silent. Him—on purpose. Her—he wasn’t sure why. The only sound was the low thud of her boots on the pavement and an occasional heavy breath.

  At the car, she hesitated when he opened the passenger door to his kickass Porsche. Since it wasn’t suited for off-road desert adventures, the only time he drove the high-end luxury car was when he was in town. He’d deliberately brought it tonight.