Broken Justice (Justice Brothers) (3 page)

Fishing into his pocket, he pulled out a crumpled bank note and pushed it into her hands. “No, no!” she cried in alarm. Her services were gratis per Santos’ wishes. Taking money would cause problems.

“Don’t worry,” he told her in fluent Spanish. “That money is for your family. Use it wisely.” Pushing her with his formidable presence to the door without ever laying a finger on her person, she was through it and forgotten half a second after he swung the creaking wood door shut.

Less than forty minutes later he had loaded his rucksack into a dilapidated Jeep and was pulling out onto the bumpy back roads that would take him away from this scorching hellhole and back to his real life. Back to being Cameron Justice.

It was early fall on the East Coast during that six or seven week period when the scenery was bursting with flaming autumn colors. This was the only time of the year when Cam felt like returning to his old stomping ground. The magnificence of an East Coast fall was something that never failed to cleanse his soul. He’d been making this pilgrimage whenever he could for as long as he could remember.

As a New York City kid who’d been sucked into the social services system before he was ten, Cam had learned to survive the harsh realities of group foster care and the mean streets of Gotham. The summer he turned thirteen, a chance placement put him on a list of disadvantaged kids chosen to spend time at a summer camp in the Pocono Mountains of Northern Pennsylvania. The experience had been life changing. Being able to punch his way out of a street fight didn’t translate into being adept at rope climbing or help him build confidence in his ability to paddle a canoe. It was as if an entirely new world had opened up, right before his very eyes.

From that time on, he’d made sure to get his name on the camp list every summer. It was a slice of heaven in an otherwise coarse and unforgiving existence. The year before he turned eighteen and got dumped out of the system onto his own, he’d been lucky enough to be chosen as a junior camp counselor. Best goddamn summer of his life in more ways than he could count.

That was the summer he’d spent banging Bridget Murphy, an eccentric craft counselor at the camp, every chance he could. In her tiny cabin in the woods, Bridget had taught him a lifetime of detailed lessons in the art of oral sex and coaxing the mysterious female orgasm to life during long, sultry summer nights that were the stuff of every teenage boy’s fantasies. She’d schooled him on how to get her off and then showed him the many ways he could fuck what he’d pleasured.

Without a doubt, the highlight of his sexual schooling had been that Bridget was always ready to blow him. Before that summer he’d never known what it was like to push his dick to the back of a woman’s mouth as he shot his come in endless spurts down her throat.

He looked forward to the nights when he could go down on her and then simply lay back on her creaky, metal camp bed. Hands behind his head, he watched her straddle his cock and fuck him senseless. She preferred being on top and Cameron really liked watching her pendulous breasts sway and bounce with each of her frenzied movements. For an endlessly horny teenager, it was heaven.

When summer was over and the campers dispatched home, the counselors hung around a few extra weeks closing up the campground for the harsh weather ahead. The approach of the changing season in the Pennsylvania Mountains was something he was likely to never forget, same as the lessons learned from the naughty Bridget.

Returning to the area over the years, Cam found old towns that had seen better days dotted in the mountains around the ski resorts. That’s where he was this fine autumn day. A backwater village on the far edge of an upstate town with a couple of run-down bars, a Laundromat, a bunch of stores, and a few gas stations. The rich folk lived in the fancy vacation homes and outlet-shopping zones that extended into the mountains and brought tourists to this out of the way place. However here in town, it was your normal hard scrabble, blue-collar life that didn’t crowd his preference for anonymity.

With the kids back in school, he’d been staying in a motor court outside of town for about a week, taking in the crisp air and blazing glory of autumn in full swing. A couple more days and then he’d have to get back to work, go home and deal with his day-to-day life. Draegyn was texting non-stop about clients on his queue, a signal from reality that he needed to start re-connecting. It wouldn’t be too long before Alex got on his case too, a sobering thought since that particular brother had been grating on his nerves lately. With his higher rank than everyone else bullshit, old Alex liked to think he knew everything. Immersed as he was in technology and the cyber world, dealing with data and machines sometimes made him an insensitive bully. He and Draegyn had been saying for months that the dude needed some damn human interaction. Not that the two of them should be talking much smack about the need for human connections. None of them, it seemed, were going to win any awards in the ‘warm and fuzzy, let’s be best friends’ kind of way.

Right now though, he was caught up watching a scene play out that had intrigued him each of the past three days that he’d come to this particular food joint. From his seat in a shadowed booth at the back of the diner, he’d noticed her immediately the first time he’d stopped in for a late breakfast. He had been drawn to her clipped, efficient movements as she sat in a small cramped space at the end of the long lunch counter. Everything about her actions told him she was trying to be as small and unnoticeable as possible. Too many tours of duty, hunting down bad guys, had left their mark on him, and he couldn’t avoid the comparison that it reminded him of tradecraft – attempting to avoid detection, something people didn’t do without reason. Bottom line was that something was up with this one and he’d been hooked from that second on. When she turned up at the same time on the next day Cam couldn’t help slipping into watchful mode. Eyes on target was an occupational hazard he guessed.

That time she’d also seemed to be taking great pains to remain small and of no consequence. He wasn’t fooled by what he saw on the surface. Years of surveillance work sprang to life as he examined every single detail before him. She was young, maybe mid-twenties, with an air of quiet intensity. Downcast eyes that, while locked away, were on constant guard. Flicking around the room, noticing every movement and every person approaching her personal space.

She was more than average in height but not too tall. Dressed in non-descript clothing that did nothing for her figure, she had on worn sneakers, jeans at least a size too big, and a baggy sweater under an unzipped hoodie that screamed thrift store find. She carried a large backpack that had seen better days, one that her movements suggested she guarded like a Faberge egg. Everything about her intrigued him.

He hadn’t gotten near enough to see her features up close, but he noted dark blonde hair that was pulled back in a sloppy ponytail, framing an oval face with arched eyebrows, a pert nose, high cheekbones, and a determined chin. It was her hands that kept drawing his attention though. In her attempt to be invisible, she kept them still and hidden in her lap. This was no preening female with wild, gesturing flourishes meant to attract the attention of every male in sight. Far from it. This lady seemed determined not to be seen at all.

When those hidden hands of hers did come into view, long fingers, delicate looking wrists, and an economy of movement struck Cam. Even from across the room he found her hands beautifully expressive and wondered what made her keep them hidden away. He tried to ignore the growing compulsion to experience those beautiful hands as they stroked the hard, angled planes of his body.

Today, Cam arrived early at the diner so he could observe her when she entered. He hadn’t been disappointed when he’d seen her ponytail appear behind a town bus as it pulled away from the stop across the street. She walked directly into the diner and found the most out-of-the-way booth available, where she slid in and secured her meager belongings. Heaving a deep sigh, she relaxed against the back of the old, vinyl-covered booth but never looked at the menu and barely glanced around the room.

She’d ordered what looked to be tea and a bowl of whatever soup made it on the daily special. Upon closer examination, he realized the older waitress was furtively loading her up with rolls and butter.
Hmmm
. Ponytail, as he started calling her, had found a soft heart in the gruff, smoky-voiced waitress. This was getting interesting.

He suspected that the diner was a stop-off of sorts. Somewhere where she could go and sit without much bother. Several possible explanations for her behavior were ticking into place. She was a student cutting school, or perhaps a silly female with a hopeless crush on one of the people working nearby. Oddly, that notion didn’t sit well with him. The fact that outside of a few murmured words with the waitress, she didn’t speak to or interact with a soul crushed that scenario.

The way she carefully counted out a handful of change each day for what she ordered told him she was pinching pennies. He felt a surge of annoyance when his mind zeroed in on the thought that the huge breakfast he’d just inhaled would likely seem like an indulgence to the Ponytail. Maybe watching her wasn’t such a good idea if he was going to get all maudlin and soft about the circumstances of another person.

He didn’t do maudlin and he most definitely did not do soft. Cam took what he needed, when the fancy struck him, and never gave much thought to the aftermath. He wasn’t what you would call a people person. Too many years in a foxhole, toting an M-16 rifle while decked out in head to toe Kevlar, made him something of an emotional recluse in the everyday world. His dim view of women, created entirely from memories of his neglectful, selfish, and abusive mother, made him a less than charming guy.

He got laid when he needed to, which had been pretty often until recently, and didn’t bother with social niceties unless directly related to the flourishing security agency he and his Justice Brothers had launched. If no man was an island, the three of them were the exception to that rule.

His reverie was broken when the Ponytail discreetly slipped into the ladies’ room, hauling her stuffed backpack with her. Her bowl of soup and tea remained on the table indicating that she’d be returning to the booth. Craning his neck, he noticed a wall phone in the dark vestibule outside the restrooms and felt the sudden urge to make a call.

A couple of minutes later he felt like an idiot as he engaged in basic Surveillance 101 by giving the impression he was using the phone as he scoped out what she was up to.
What the hell was he doing? Jesus.
He knew what he was doing. “The damn woman intrigues me,” he whispered into the phone piece.

Before that thought could be followed with another, the restroom door swung open to allow a harried looking mother and her rambunctious kids to exit. As the woman stood holding the door wide, he spotted the Ponytail standing at the back of the space along a wall of sinks. Snapping up the opportunity, he dropped the phone and gallantly offered up some door holding assistance for the beleaguered mom.

“Here, let me help you ma’am,” he mumbled, angling his body to prop the door further so she could navigate a stroller and a hyperactive youngster out into the hallway. From this vantage point, Cam was able to observe what the Ponytail was doing and found her energetically rubbing something under a trickling faucet. Trained to look closer at scenes like this, he instantly recognized several important things worth noting.

A small bottle, probably liquid soap, was on the sink. So was an empty plastic bag. Her backpack was open on the floor next to her feet. From this angle, he saw something wadded up, like a t-shirt, and a big plastic bag spilling from the pack. Her attention was focused on washing something in the sink. Something small and blue. When she stopped for a moment to examine what she was holding, his mind stuttered as he realized that A. she was washing her panties, and B. she was clearly fretting. He heard her mutter sharply, “Well that’s just great. Period stains on the only new undies I have left.”

Fuck, had he heard her right?
He’d been instantly hooked as the sound of her voice struck him like a punch to the solar plexus. Slightly husky but decidedly feminine, her words ended on an exasperated sigh. He wanted to have a conversation with her. Listen to that beautiful, sexy voice and feel more of the squeezing in his chest.

The mother and her kid army wandered off, and the door closed in their wake, leaving Cam standing there feeling even more like an idiot. Man, he had to get his shit together immediately because stalking some poor girl was quite beneath his dignity. Sure, he tried to convince himself, it was an occupational hazard to be wrapped up in watching someone, but there had to be a line drawn at some point.

Hanging up the phone he’d left dangling moments earlier and returning to his table, he tried to get his thoughts under control. Five minutes later, she left the restroom and returned to her booth without ever making eye contact with anyone.

Cam watched with knowing eyes as the Ponytail slowly wrapped leftover rolls in several napkins. His own early experiences reminded him that she was likely saving them for later when hunger would overtake the evening and make for a restless night. Maybe that was why he couldn’t ignore her. She was striking chords of a memory deep inside from his own miserable youth when food was a luxury and liquid soap siphoned out of public restroom dispensers was a smart move. He knew how much effort it took to survive.