Justice Mine: a Base Branch Novel (11 page)

“Feel that.” His thumb shepherded hers across a small bar with a textured edge.

“Yes.”

“It’s the safety. If you want to shoot, flip it down, aim, and pull the trigger.”

She levered back, trying to see his eyes, but his gaze locked on the street. “You make killing sound so easy.”

“It’s never easy. No matter how many times you do it. But it’s not about what’s easy. It’s about what’s right.” He stepped back and pinned her with his gaze. She’d hoped to find reassurance in his brilliant eyes. She found only intensity and calculation. “Walk to the end of the block. Take the tube at West Kensington. Get in the third car and take it to Hammersmith. I’ll meet you there.” Law scooted her toward the street.

“What about you?” Her voice pitched higher with each word.

“I’m going to get the information and arrange a drop.”

Magdalena clung to Law’s hand, afraid if she let go, one of them would vanish like a mirage. “What does that even mean?”

“It means this shit just got real, Magdalena. They found you at my flat, registered to a person that doesn’t exist. It’s not impossible to track, but it takes a load of money and some fancy machinery, or high-level clearance, to accomplish. It means I need help tracking them, so I can properly look after you.”

“Why can’t I go with you? I’ll try my best to keep up.”

Law’s eyes livened and the tiniest wrinkles formed at the edges. “You’ve been amazing, but I can’t chance bringing you when more of them could show.”

“What if you’re not at the station?”

“I’ll be there.” Law’s fingers caressed her cheek then over her lips. “I’ll never abandon you again.”

Magdalena’s throat constricted.

He pushed her to the sidewalk. “Now, trust me.”

“
I
’m headed
into the station,” Law said.

Khani groaned into the line. “Street confirmed the pick-up. Law, the blokes from Baine’s were dead-ends, literally. Low-level knuckle draggers. You said these two were professionals. They’ll be in the system. We’ll intercept the second one at the morgue. One way or the other, we’ll get you some information.”

“Thanks, Khani.”

“Watch your back, Justice. I don’t like this shit. Not one little bit.”

Law stuffed the phone into his pocket and ducked into the brick front building. “Me either.”

The sunlight shining through the vaulted rows of skylights did little to brighten Law’s grim mood. He’d done a thousand difficult things in life, but sending Magdalena away ranked at the top of the shitty list. The fact that he didn’t come up against any opposition to the drop only added to his rancor. They could have at least provided him a suspect to interrogate. When he noticed the homeless man while running in the park, sporting a shiny Glock 38, questioning was the last thing on his mind.

The set-up screamed professional hit. Homeless had obviously watched the building and had seen him leave without Magdalena. His gut formed the rows of knit stitches his mother used to practice for hours on end. He found they helped him about as much as they’d helped his mum make a sweater. The distraction had cost him flesh and blood and nearly cost him everything else.

It had nearly cost him the life that rat bastard tried to choke out of Magdalena. Law crossed his arms, pinning his shaking hands, and leaned against the platform I-beam at the end of the stairs. He held his breath, waiting for the District train to bring her back to him.

In this harsh light, Baine’s actions in Mexico no longer looked brutal. A little teeth pulling and finger pruning appeared downright mellow compared to the plans he had for the people who made Magdalena a target. His chest rattled with angst as the seconds ticked by and the bullet had yet to shoot down the rails. Two minutes later, when the blunt red-faced machine rounded the corner, Law straightened from his post.

He banked the urge to push his way to the door and scoop her into his arms. Instead, he scanned the area for the twentieth time, watching for any signs of an ambush. People moved off the train and created a light crowd on the concrete platform. A sleek woman in a charcoal business suit hung toward the rear of the group. As she slowed and riffled through her handbag, Law wrapped his hands around the grip of his gun.

The brunette produced a tube of lipstick and smoothed the color over her lips. He relaxed his grip, but everything else in him tightened as he focused on the breathtaking blonde standing outside the electric doors of the third car, just like he’d told her. She looked toward the woman then back at him.

Magdalena mouthed, “Were you going to shoot her?”

“If I needed to.”

Again she lipped across the distance. “She’s a woman.” Both her brows shot up and her Irish eyes widened.

Only she could make him laugh at a time like this. He crooked his finger at her and she took four measured steps toward him, still clutching her bag as she’d done walking away.

“You sorely underestimate the power of your sex, Magdalena.”

She smiled, but the tentative curve fell from her mouth quickly. Magdalena blinked at him several times. The force of her flapping lashes was enough to blow him onto his backside.

“You’re here.”

Law closed the gap between them and cupped her soft cheeks in his hands. The silk of her hair danced across his fingers as he turned her chin. Their gazes collided so hard it hurt in the center of his chest. He lowered his head a fraction at a time, until their mouths hovered a whisper from each other. No matter how his mind struggled to convince his body and heart that this closeness was a disaster waiting to unfold, he ignored intellect and went with instinct.

“I promised I’d never leave you again. And I meant it.”

A small tear rolled down her cheek and he wiped it away with his thumb. Her gaze sparkled in the moisture and rays of the sun. He found a piece of sea glass one time on a mission in Australia. The translucent green so precisely captured the color of Magdalena’s eyes, but her gaze awed him so much more than that ocean tumbled bauble. Law touched his lips to hers in a delicate kiss. The tension in her neck vanished as she relaxed in his embrace while he collected all her discarded rigidity in order to rein in his desire.

He slid his mouth over hers, sparking electricity that had nothing to do with static. The tingle spread through his lips to his heart. The prickle headed south, but was railroaded by the passing lipstick lady.

“Get a bloody room,” she scoffed.

Though he had no inclination to stop tasting Magdalena’s sweet mouth, the eagerness to usher her to safety won out. He placed a chaste kiss on the tip of her nose.

“She’s right.”

“Oh?” Magdalena’s pupils dilated and she leaned into his palms.

“I need to get you out of the city. It’s not safe.”

Her slightly drunken expression lifted and she straightened. “Oh. Right.”

Law grabbed her hand and pulled her against him as they headed for the exit. When she hauled back he surrendered his hands. “I wasn’t trying to invade your space.”

Magdalena’s lips quirked. “So, that was a non-invasive kiss?”

His mouth fell open then closed.

“Law, I’m not worried about you violating my territory.” She flashed him a crooked smile. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

Would he ever find even footing again? He guessed, no. Not with Magdalena around. And he could maybe live with that. “Huh?”

“Your side. You’re hurt,” she whispered.

“Come on.” He tucked her back against him and led them through the terminal. Their casual pace and embrace belied his acute awareness of everyone around them. Men. Women. Children. No matter their age, race, or perceived disability, they all gained his attention. When they walked out onto the street, his wariness only multiplied. Magdalena slowed and it seemed her unease grew as well, but for a totally unrelated reason.

“I’m not riding on that thing again.” Her sharp finger pointed at his Hog as if it were a dragon or some other equally terrifying mythical beast. Tugging her along, he continued to the bike and set about stowing her gear. “You must not have heard me,” she added. Both her hands jumped to her hips. “So, I’ll say it again.”

“What do you have against my best girl?” He slung a leg over and inserted the key.

Magdalena’s little mouth wrinkled and she shot him with those laser eyes. “I don’t like the way it makes me feel.”

“And what way is that, exactly?”

“Reckless. Wild. Completely out of control. It makes me a little queasy. It makes my hands shake and my insides quiver. Like I may have a heart attack at any moment.”

“Well, tart, get used to it. Lord knows I’ve had to.”

Her upper lip did an Elvis curl. “Why would you ride the thing, if it makes you feel that way?”

He winked at her and reached for her hand. Magdalena set her palm against his. When he tugged she climbed onto the back of the motorcycle. Her thighs snuggled his ass and her arms wrapped around the leather jacket he sweated to death inside of and held on loosely, careful not to aggravate the raw knife wound.

Law shifted in the seat, offering her the helmet she hated so dearly. “I wasn’t talking about the bike, tart. I was referring to you.”

Magdalena blocked him out with the helmet and they rode peaceably until they reached the outskirts of the city. When he passed Heathrow International she fidgeted. Law turned onto M3 and the houses waned in number, overtaken by lush greenery. Rolling hills carpeted in flowing grasses soon turned into tall trees bright with emerald leaves. Magdalena tapped Morse code on his shoulder. Of course, she had no idea what she was saying. But he understood the message:
Where the hell are we going?

He spoke through the helmet’s Bluetooth intercom system. “I don’t know exactly where we’re going.”

“Ha, you’ve had this capability the entire time we’ve been riding this thing—”

“This Hog. Or motorcycle. Or Harley,” he interjected.

“Whatever, you’re just now using it?”

They banked into an easy curve. Intuitively, her arms cinched around his middle and her weight shifted with him. An image of their weight shifting together in an entirely different manner capitulated his thoughts down a path littered with potholes, roadblocks, and mudslides.

“Why?” she asked. “And where?”

“I didn’t turn it on because it didn’t occur to me. I’ve never had anyone on here with me.”

“You’re kidding, right?”

“No.”

“Is the…Hog new?”

“Had her for nearly eight years.”

“And you’ve never had anyone on here with you? Not even a random?”

“No. As to your other question, we need to lay low for a couple of days. So, I’m just driving until something looks good.”

“Okay,” she whispered. “When we get to wherever we’re going, can we eat?”

Oh God, he was a total goner. Keister over heels in love with this woman. His shoulders shook with laughter. “Anything you want, tart.”

S
howered and full-bellied
, Magdalena and Law sat at the tiny round table in the room they checked at a quaint old-world hotel in the equally nostalgic town of Amesbury. Neither spoke more than the words necessary to orchestrate their respective cleanliness and in-room dinning service. And both avoided the bed like the mattress played host to a bevy of bedbugs.

The awkwardness began when they entered the room and Law stilled like he found a gunman lying in wait or a bomb ready to explode. For the barest of seconds, Magdalena’s mind haunted her with all the possibilities, but she stepped into the room ready to face the horror. Only she hadn’t been ready at all.

Beyond Law, thick tapestries, a low-slung ceiling, and smoke-stained fireplace suffocated the room in a boudoir feel. If she thought the kiss at the station threw her for a loop, the king-sized canopy bed Law’s gaze riveted to knocked her smooth out. Four scrolled wooden posters scraped the ceiling and connected beams carved with intricate rosettes. The rich mahogany of the head and foot boards hosted masterfully sculpted flares and flowers. But the yards and yards of gauzy white fabric made it a bed fit for fucking.

Magdalena’s nipples tightened beneath the simple tank she wore, just thinking about the sex sled. Awareness of the rough breaths flowing in and out of Law’s flared nostrils followed suit. She clamped her eyes shut and willed away the stir of hormones inside her body. The emotions of the past two days were quite enough to handle, without adding sex to the mix. Not that her body didn’t scream for his. It had since the first moment they touched in obstinate fashion, attuned to his every move. His every glance. But she couldn’t throw every newfound moral in the dumpster because she thought she loved another chap. Okay, she knew she did, but it still didn’t give her carte blanche to wrap her legs around him and ride him harder and longer than they’d ridden the bike.

She tried to lighten the heaviness in the room. “Don’t tell my father we were this close to Stonehenge and didn’t go see it. He’d be pissed. Maybe even more so than he’ll be about the house. He used to drag me out here once a year until I left for school.”

Law’s gaze jumped from his folded hands to her face, then flashed to her breasts before rising again. The muscles in his neck strained and he cleared his throat. “Don’t worry about the house. It’s been taken care of.”

“What do you mean?”

“It’s returned to normal, minus a few broken things which I’ve commissioned someone to replace.”

Her hands stilled from worrying the fray of her usually very comfortable boxer shorts. A leave-behind from some bloke along the way. Now they only left her wishing for a thick terry robe to hide behind. “Thank you,” she whispered. She worked up the nerve to meet his brilliant gaze. “Really, it means so much to me. You helped my dad. I hate that I couldn’t do it myself, but thank you.”

“Don’t thank me,” he rebuffed. His hand scraped across the stubble littering his face. “It’s my fault… God, I can’t believe I left you… I—"

“Stop, please.” She smiled wide to stave off the tears threatening mutiny against her. “Not right now. I can’t talk about that yet.”

His gaze fell to his lap and he found an interesting stitch in the jeans covering his wide legs. “Clara and I met junior year in a two day pre-law course at UCL. She beat me in a mock trial preceding and I was in love.”

Magdalena’s heart seared like the chef decided to serve her tattered organ for breakfast and fried it up inside her chest. Jealousy, the ugliest emotion, hurt so intensely she surprised herself by holding back the shriek.

Law pinched his lips between his teeth then released them and met her gaze. “So hard and fast it caught my breath. Everything fell into place like I’d been told it would my whole life.” He swallowed. “I have sisters, remember. That plus my over-the-moon-in-love parents, I never had a chance. Clara and I had our lives perfectly planned by the second month.”

Mags was lucky to have an outfit planned the night before she needed it. No way in hell could she plan a life in two months. It had taken her years of agonizing to decide on her own goals, without having to take anyone else into consideration. Hearing this made her question her own maturity, and maybe feel a bit incompetent about achieving the lofty expectations she’d placed on herself. But no. Twenty-five years had led her to this place. She wouldn’t degrade herself by judging it against others. Different people. Different lives.

“I asked her to marry me a few weeks later.” A tear rolled down Law’s strong jaw and fell to his shirt, turning the grey fabric it touched into a dark dot. The ominous mark grew as another dropped. He looked off into nowhere, and Mags knew he was reliving his time with Clara.

Her jealously faded away at the presence of his pain. Magdalena would give almost anything to return Clara to him. To ease the hurt that obviously changed the course of his life. Even if it meant she’d never know him or love him in any real way.

“She said yes, and my family immediately went to work planning an engagement party for the next weekend. All of us and some close friends. Stews. Bread. Cakes. It was a great time. The last really great time.” Law wiped at the moisture on his face and sniffed, trying to compose himself.

“That night, after the party, I found a lump in her left breast.”

“No,” Mags whispered.

“We were optimistic. Then denial came. Cancer ate her from the inside out. So. Fast.” He leaned forward, steepled his hands, and rested his mouth on the first two fingers, still a million minutes away from the present. “We dropped our course loads a month after the celebration. She couldn’t even get out of bed the next week. And then she stayed in that in-between for so long. Not alive. Not dead. A skeleton of the woman I’d first met, but still so strong.”

Magdalena closed her eyes and struggled to block out her own memories of the heinous sickness. When she opened them, tears cascaded down her face, but she clamped her mouth together. This was his purge. His chance to free a bit of the memories that preyed on him. He would never forget, but sharing them lessened their piercing edge. Even if only a little. Willow had been her restoration and Africa had been her rejuvenation. She would try to be one of them for Law.

“Then she was gone and so was I. All the plans we made for a firm and future went with her. The wind kicked me around for a year before I even thought about going back to school and finishing law. When I met Baine, we were both looking for something to help us forget the numbness.” He exhaled. “And that’s how we ended up living the life of James Bond. Well, parts of it anyway.”

Law returned to the present with a vengeance. His left hand cupped her face while the other chased away her tears. “Why are you crying?”

Magdalena’s lower lip quivered and his thumb arrested it. “I know her sickness. It’s the most dehumanizing condition. When I was a girl I lost my mother to cancer. Clara was lucky to have you. Just like my mother was lucky to have my father.”

She covered his hand with hers. “It takes a strong person to ease a loved one into death. But it’s what they need. A hand to cling to. Loving eyes to tell them it’s okay to go. That everything will be all right.

“Even if it is a lie.”

He nodded, seemingly unable to speak for a moment. “What about you?”

“What about me?”

“Who took care of you while your dad took care of your mom?”

“Dad did the best he could. I was old enough to help out around the house.”

“But not old enough to understand what was going on,” he whispered.

“Who really understands premature death, or death at all?”

“I’m sorry I left you.”

“I’m sorry I pushed.”

“Don’t. I needed a good shove and it seems you’re the lass to give it to me. You asked me earlier, if I was still in love with her.” Mags threw her hand up to stop him, but he grabbed it and intertwined their fingers. “I haven’t been in love with Clara for a while now, but I haven’t been living either. I’ve been caught in a deadened haze.

“When I saw you, you burned the clouds away and I’m just adjusting to the light. Slowly. And not very gracefully.”

Law dropped his hand from her face and tugged her from the table. He led her to the far side of the bed, away from the guns on the nightstand, and pulled back the thick comforter. Even though she knew the gesture wasn’t sexual, and that he would not kiss her tonight with all the rawness of their discussion in the foreground, her heart skipped at his closeness and care. She slipped between the sheets and watched him walk to the other side and do the same.

He settled the sheet around her shoulders and rested his head on the downy pillow. Their gazes locked in a near unblinking trance, connecting them more absolutely than sex had ever linked her with another human being. Three feet of bed yawned between them, but physical contact was inconsequential at the moment. Desire. Fear. Hope. Excitement. Love. The emotions swirled between them then slowly faded, as did her consciousness.