Well, there was that one time she told him to fuck off and slapped his face for emphasis. But having what she called a potty mouth wasn’t her thing.
Dylan, sweet, troublemaking Dylan, chimed in. “Dammit!”
Seriously—what was he supposed to do? It was funny, so he laughed. His chuckling reaction made Dylan laugh.
He wasn’t entirely sure, but Cam thought there was the suggestion of a smile around her mouth when she turned away. Without saying another word, she walked off.
Shoving his fingers along with the last chunk of breakfast stick into his mouth, Dylan laughed again and asked, “Mommy mad?”
“Nah.” He snickered. “She just doesn’t like when we say bad words.”
The boy nodded as if he understood, and maybe he did. As he reached for the sippy cup, Dyl grinned and said, “Bummer.”
Purely for shits and giggles, he fist bumped his two-year-old.
Kids had an uncanny way of cutting through bullshit. Dyl was right. While it was a bummer that Mommy didn’t like cursing, it was already apparent that Junior Justice would be earning black belts in creative vulgarity and clever swearing. It was in the Bendover air, and there was nothing any of them could do about it.
He glanced down the hallway where Lacey had disappeared, heard Lily’s soft cry, and smiled. The baby had a way of making everything all right. The sweetness and light their beautiful daughter brought to the world was a wonderful thing. She was an angel filled with magic and love.
“Let’s get you cleaned up, young man,” he called from the sink where he’d gone to wet a washcloth. “I think your sister is about to make her morning appearance.”
“Baby Lily,” Dylan mumbled.
He got them washed up and presentable before Lacey came back. The Cameron men were not a sloppy bunch.
“Hi, Lily,” Dyl called out to his sister.
Cam wasn’t sure who melted his heart more. His gorgeous wife or the pink bundle of sugar and spice in her arms.
Boys wear clothes. Girls have outfits. Even six-month-old baby girls.
Dressed in a cute pink and white sundress with bows on the short sleeves, Lily’s chubby legs and bare toes were adorable. A stretchy pink headband on her mostly bald head adorned with a jaunty pink and white flower completed her look.
Their son offered an editorial comment that made his mother smirk.
“Sorry, Daddy.”
How is it that a two-year-old knew he had an apology to make? His Ponytail, however, was of a different mind.
“I’ll give you a chance to prove that this ear protection you speak of is for real. If you insist on dragging our son to the range, I will want guarantees. Lots of them, Cameron. You aren’t being given a pass.”
He had an idea. Something that began percolating in his mind when Alex initiated the security net over the family. Instinct told him to unpack his solution slowly and carefully. Lacey responded to calm reason.
“Thank you,” he murmured with a hand on his heart. “And I’m sorry for not talking to you first.”
“Luckily,” she sniped, “you make beautiful babies, so I’ll be keeping you around.”
He choked on a laugh.
“What?” she growled.
“Sorry. I’ve got that shithead St. John in my head. Two words, baby goo.”
Dylan giggled. “Sinjin, Sinjin.” Just when he thought that was it, the boy added, “Shithead.”
Lacey’s glare was hot enough to roast his balls.
He forged ahead before she lost it. “Alex and I were thinking,” he murmured with a hand behind his back and his fingers crossed. “That the ladies need to learn some basic gun handling essentials.”
She didn’t appear convinced. “Alex said this?”
He was lying through his teeth, hence the crossed fingers, but hey, what else was he supposed to do? Right at this second, any sentence with Drae’s name in it would earn a frown.
“Yeah. Uh, Domineau offered to be a liaison.”
“A liaison?” she repeated. “Cameron, what are you up to?”
He couldn’t keep it up. Stretching the truth was one thing. Making up a lie was something else.
“All right,” he said in surrender. “You got me. The thought isn’t that well defined. And it’s me and Drae who think you girls need to step up. I can’t have you being afraid to handle a gun. You never know when the ability might make a difference.”
Lacey’s face left no doubt that she thought him daft. “I’m not afraid. I just don’t want our home to reflect the gun culture. Justice is bad enough. Any day now, I expect to see a tank rolling down the backroad, and Remy postulated that Alex is considering adding a helicopter to the fleet although no one knows why. This isn’t about me being difficult. It’s important to me that our children play outside, read books, and listen to music. I don’t want electronics and military issue pastimes to be the order of the day.”
Oh. When she put it like that, he understood. Women see the whole picture. Men tend to focus on situations.
Cassé woofed softly at the kitchen door. He went to let her in while Lacey got the baby situated.
The sound of “You Are My Sunshine” gave the kitchen a happy vibe. Dylan loved when his mommy sang. He rocked on his little butt and grinned.
The dog limped toward the action—she gravitated to the kids. There was no adjustment period for their newest family member. Upon arrival at Casa Cameron, she was instantly showered with love and tender care, and as a result, she got stronger every day. Dylan insisted she join them for every meal, and surprisingly, the well-mannered pup didn’t prowl the table and beg. She sat on her doggie bed in the corner of the kitchen and waited. He appreciated that she wasn’t a wild-ass nightmare.
Kids and dog situated, his wife cornered him and put the gun issue to rest. It helped that she did so while wrapped around him like a clinging vine.
“I don’t like arguing with you,” she murmured with just a hint of petulance.
Husband fact number one. If the wife was snippy or bitchy, it was probably your fault and even if it wasn’t, it was. Didn’t make a lick of sense but … welcome to marriage.
He almost blurted out how sexy she was when she got pissed off, but a sense of self-preservation stopped the words. That didn’t, however, stop him from feeling up her butt. It was the yin and yang of matrimony. Suck it up and then make it better with a bit of groping. Worked for him.
“I know you and Draegyn think you’re all sorts of clever, but you two are a day late and a dollar short.”
Cam registered his surprise at this taunt and snickered. “Oh, really?”
She grabbed his face with both hands and with a pithy snort said, “Yes.” Pushing away from him, she crossed her arms and lovingly stared him down. “For the record, Mr. Cameron, we took a vote. After two rounds, it was unanimous.”
He seriously could not wait to hear what fuckery the ladies were up to now.
“Domineau and Remy are going to run us through a training course. Self-defense with Rafe, and bang bang shoot ’em up time with Domineau.”
Huh? He frowned. What she described sounded like a fully articulated plan. How the fuck had he and Drae missed this? No wonder she was so skeptical when he tried to throw Alex under the bus. They really needed to start having weekly meetings again. All sorts of weird shit was going on that the three of them should at least be consulted on.
“Did you say training course?” he asked for clarification because, why not?
“Indeed, I did.” Lacey sniffed.
He saw a glint of amusement flash in her expression. “Stephanie is making badges.”
Er, uh, huh? Badges? What the hell was a badge? Should he ask or stay silent? Luckily, she continued with an explanation that eventually made sense.
She dropped the confrontational stance and started flitting around the kitchen, babbling as she wiped counters and put things away.
“Tori suggested virtual badges, but what fun is that? We can’t use a sash—scou
ting already claimed the look. So Angie suggested getting tote bags.”
Cam looked at the kids and rolled his eyes. Mom was on a tear.
“Calder got Stephanie a fancy-shmancy sewing machine that does everything. We have to design what we want, but she can make the actual patch! Isn’t that cool? I always wanted to do Scouts.”
Her voice held a melancholy note that she quickly shrugged off. Lacey wasn’t one to dwell on the past.
She looked across the island at him and sniggered. A faint rosy blush moved onto her cheeks. He loved it when Ponytail imagined for even a second that she was being naughty.
“We decided on a cooking badge. Meghan wasn’t amused.”
Okay, now that was really funny. He smiled. She blushed some more.
“Is there a pole badge?” he innocently asked. “There should be.”
With an excited gasp, she reacted like a goofy kid and clapped her hands with glee. “Yes, yes! I’ll make that happen. And we need a patch with a Jameson bottle. Oh!” she exclaimed. “And a toolbox badge. Drae can teach us how to make bookends or something.”
He sulked at the mention of Sinjin. “What about me? What can I school the ladies on?”
“Why photography, of course, you silly! And film. It may sound crazy, but Ash and Wendy are gung-ho for making a documentary. Just for us. Is that something you’d consider?”
A documentary about Family Justice? His inner Ken Burns sparked to life. He imagined a living documentary—something that never ended with new content added along the way.
Cam glanced at Lily, Dylan, and the dog. Then his eyes swept the kitchen where his beautiful wife conducted their family life. It still amazed him that his home was where the ladies gathered. Not up at the Villa. Here. Because Lacey was their ground zero. She was the first. Wherever she was, the entire contingent of Justice ladies followed.
Documenting their lives along with the growth that Justice brought to Bendover was just what he needed. Alex was already on board with him producing a series of agency videos. Giving cameras to the women was a stroke of genius. They would bring the female energy while he and the guys could do their warrior slash he-man bullshit.
“I’d love it,” he quickly admitted. “Everyone already takes so many pictures and videos. Your Instagram is a good example. We really should gather the best of the best and make something the whole family can enjoy.”
He’d made his wife very, very happy. Her loving smile felt like a ray of warm sunshine—just for him.
Dylan’s cute giggle and Lily’s gurgling coo would make a wonderful soundtrack. Of all the things he’d done in his life, this was what mattered. He looked at his kids with wonder. Their lives were barely getting started. Growing up Justice would be a thing.
He’d chosen and chosen well.
Alex and Draegyn were the first. They saved him from himself.
Arizona gave him a chance to find out who he really was.
And Lacey of the blond ponytail and loving smile—she changed everything.
Now, they had roots planted in the Sonoran Desert. Their children played in the sunshine, and a future that seemed unimaginable just a few short years ago beckoned to Cam with open arms.
Happiness so complete that he had to mentally pinch himself made Cam formulate a silent prayer.
Give me strength to keep my family safe. Grant me wisdom to see the things that matter and surround the ones I love with protection.
Chapter 20
Once the Labor Day holiday was past, September turned into a grind. Domineau figured a lot of that had to do with everyone adjusting to the fall schedule. These were things she never considered before. What the fuck did it matter to her when the back-to-school sales were? Her entire connection to the annual education ritual centered on those damn school zone speed limits. The presence of crossing guards, kids wearing backpacks, and big yellow school buses were clues that she didn’t live alone on the planet.
Pywakett was staring at her with a look that suggested Domineau go fuck herself. The cat knew things.
She sighed and tried to explain—one more time.
“Look, it’s no big deal. You’ll still have the run of the house—just not the second bedroom so don’t give me any guff.”
The cat’s black tail twitched. That was it. A lazy twitch.
Grumbling, she shoved a box into the closet with a hefty kick and slammed the door shut. If she put any more crap in there, an explosion would be triggered.
“Shut up,” she growled to Py and stomped into the empty bedroom.
Roommates. She agreed to take in roommates. Actually, she groused, there was no agreeing. What happened was more like she’d been played.
Heather and Stephanie coerced her into a meet and greet with Becca Tate and her kid. They grabbed breakfast at Busty’s—where the homeless mother and daughter slept in a storage room.
Domineau was up against an immovable force—something she wasn’t happy about—so she went through the motions. Stephanie was Becca’s new fangirl, and Heather wasn’t far behind. The woman’s first day on the job as Stephanie’s assistant turned out better than anyone dared to hope. Now they just had to stabilize the woman’s housing situation, and like magic, everything would be fine.
She snorted. What was fine about the shitstorm Becca Tate was dealing with? Her ex-husband needs a disciplinary butt fuck in the worst way. Any guy who would be a dick about his spouse serving in the military and then go one step farther and ditch his kid during Mom’s deployment qualified as pussy of the decade.
That fact alone was what made her give in and offer the empty room. A woman getting fucked over by men was a theme these days, and she was pretty much over it.
The thing was, though, Becca’s kid was a shit. Within thirty seconds of meeting the sullen brat, she was ready to toss her stupid ass to the curb. Her own mother would have smacked Domineau up the side of the head for …
She quickly pulled the plug on that thought.
A phone alarm reminded her that she had to get moving. Rafe was expecting her, and since she was the one to initiate the date, it was probably best if she made an attempt to be on time.
Dashing into the bathroom, she gave her reflection a quick once-over. The caramel and bronze highlights her new hair stylist talked Domineau into were bangin’.
She was getting used to a look that was less special-agent-in-charge. She wasn’t going to admit this in group—what she termed the weekly sit-downs with the other department heads—but it was a fucking relief after all this time to ease her foot off the pedal with the whole “fitting in with the guys” thing. For the first time in her life, she was free to experiment. Find out what made her comfortable.
Some days, she was her usual. Part black widow, part comic book badass. Those were the times she made dicks go limp with no effort.
Other days were more formal. Nobody rocked a form-fitting business ensemble like a warrior Amazon with attitude. Her height plus a subtle fuck everybody in the form of some horrifyingly expensive shoes gave her favorite Stella McCartney pantsuit an extra kick.
And there were the times like today—when she reached for whatever wasn’t black and anything that put her in touch with her long-forgotten female side.
It wasn’t hippie tye-dye, and it wasn’t floral perky pink, but her light gray skirt with the kick pleat in back and feminine blouse were modern and cute. She added open toe heels, a slim white belt, and some chunky white jewelry from a shopping excursion in Flagstaff that crippled her credit card.
She’d worked the O-dark-thirty shift because of a training exercise at the agency’s mock town in the desert. Duke invited her to take part. He was running his team through drill after drill—it was as if he expected Bendover to be invaded by an army of bad guys.
Taking advantage of the opportunity to cut out early, she’d done just that and come home to finish clearing out her spare room. She’d arranged to meet up with Rafe after school let out—when she knew he’d be home doing his da
d thing.
Jesus lord but she was nervous. Pywakett wound around her ankles and purred. The cat was a pain in the ass, but she always seemed to know when Domineau was having a moment.
Fiddling with tendrils of her hair, she gave the soft sweep a nod. She’d ditched the severe helmet style in favor of something more versatile. Letting her locks grow out was a good move. She could do nothing and let it hang below her shoulders or she could do this half sweep, half twist style she saw in a magazine. It softened her face and made her less formidable.
Not that Molly D’Alessandro found her formidable. Not at all. The damn kid was hardcore vying for BFF status.
She looked down at Py. “This one time”—she chortled—“I walked into a meeting of high-level targets and left a room of dead guys. Making nice with a five-year-old scares me more.”
Py yawned.
“Don’t tell that to anyone, okay?”
She swiped on a sheer lip-gloss and spritzed some perfume in the air above her head. On her way to the front door, she picked up her purse—another new accessory—and the book she planned to give to Molly.
“Behave, Py. I’ll be a while so hang out and chill.”
Absently counting the tapping of her heels on the sidewalk to the driveway, she looked around as she unlocked her truck. Her eyes swept the neighborhood. The house on the corner was getting a new roof. By sheer force of habit, she was keeping an eye on the project. Random work crews milling about had security risk overtones.
She noted the security team assigned to her. They all but blended into the scenery.
“Aw, fuck,” she grunted when getting behind the wheel proved challenging. Hiking up her skirt so she could do some climbing, Domineau swung into the seat and slammed the car door shut. Skirts and trucks did not always play nice.
Before pulling from the driveway, she checked the security app on her phone. Windows shut and locked. Alarm activated on the garage. Satisfied, she put the truck into reverse and back out of the driveway.
As she headed toward Rafe’s side of town, she flipped on the satellite radio and found a song begging to be sung at the top of her lungs.
Enduring (Family Justice Book 8) Page 40
