Justice Mine: a Base Branch Novel (13 page)

W
ell
, fuck it all, she couldn’t hide in the bathroom all day. She’d already managed nearly two hours with a shower and cry, shaving, tweezing, make-up, hair drying, a re-apply of the make-up she cried off while blow-drying, and finally, some nail filing. God, she twitched for a cigarette and thanked the lucky stars there were none readily available. On the bright side, there were two bad habits she couldn’t fall back into.

Her stomach roared for the fifth time in a minute and she caved. The room had been silent for a long while, and she wondered if perhaps he did break his word and leave. Not that he owed her anything at all. They were nothing to each other. Just victims of circumstance.

If only you could convince your stupid heart, ole girl.

Magdalena reached for the knob, dragged a fortifying breath, and exited her closet sized sanctuary. Law sat in the same chair he had for dinner the previous night, but the similarities to that magical time ended there. The connection they’d experienced only hours before seemed a dream her subconscious weaved. His locked jaw and vacant eyes acted as a force field, discounting everything without the decency of acknowledging it ever existed.

“Are you hungry?”

His voice held none of the playfulness or blatant irritation she’d come to expect. The pain radiated so loudly through her body she couldn’t think to speak. Her nod answered his question. Law snagged the menu from the nightstand, and suddenly being stuck in a room with him was more than she could bear.

“I need to go out. I can’t be locked in here with you, if you’re not going to fuck me.” Well, that certainly got a reaction.

Law launched to his feet and scrubbed his hands over the lengthening stubble on his head like he wanted to rub it bald. He laughed an empty bark. “So, you’re one of those girls. Just want to get some, huh?”

“Screw you. I’m a woman who knows what she wants and isn’t afraid to go after it.”

“You want sex. That’s fine. I’m certain a million guys would happily give it to you.”

Magdalena bit her tongue to stave off her tears. “After my mother died, I was alone. Yeah, I had my dad, but a girl needs her mum. As soon as I came of age, I figured out a way to keep my fear at bay. Not with guns or explosions, but with men.”

Law’s jaw tightened and the tiny movement gave her hope that he cared. “You ran away from people, afraid you would care for them. I ran headlong
toward
people, afraid to feel alone in the world. For a long time, I mistook sex for intimacy. A really good friend helped me see how I was hurting myself. I chose to leave behind every security escape I knew. I chose to be alone with myself. I chose to face my fear.

“I don’t want sex, Law. I want you.”

His chin lifted. “I’m not for sale.”

Magdalena had never hit anything in her life. Not even her pillow in a fit of rage. But the
slap
of her palm meeting his face echoed in the room before she realized what she’d done. “I’m not buying.”

M
agdalena drank heavily
from the glass then returned it to the patio table. She scrawled an F and U in the dew droplets and lifted her face to the sun, wishing it could radiate the past week from her memory. Africa had been so great. Maybe her mistake was coming back. If she hadn’t come back, she wouldn’t have seen Willow getting the shit beat out of her and none of this would have happened.

She jumped up from her slouch and cut her gaze at Law, who’d been stubbornly quiet since their spat. “I’ll be back. I need to make a phone call.”

Before she shoved her chair back, Law laid his phone on the wood next to her plate. “You may want to be rid of me, but you’re not leaving my sight. Unless you want to lock yourself in the bathroom again.”

Nope. She wasn’t one bit sorry she slapped him. “Fine.” She added the eye roll for effect. Childish, yes, but so what.

The screen lit as she typed in Willow’s cell number. After the second try and subsequent voicemail she gave up and slid Law his phone.

“Tell me about the phone call earlier.” As an afterthought she added, “Please.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Tell me about your—"

“I heard what you said,” he interrupted.

“Oh,” she said before everything clicked into place. He’d apologized. What exactly for, she wondered. Calling her a whore? Fleeing the best sexual experience of her life? Withdrawing from their non-relationship more times than a porn star did a vagina? Unequipped to hear the answer, she ignored the question, for now. “Please, just tell me about the call.”

“No links were found between you and any faction in Africa. They went through every picture you had access to and every story you worked on, as well as those of your colleague, Owen Vos.”

“How’d they get his stories?”

When he didn’t answer she moved on to more important things. “Okay, I think we’ve been looking in the wrong direction. All this started after I saw Willow getting knocked around by the mystery man. I’ve tried to call her, twice, without any response, and she lives with her phone attached to her hand.”

Law went palms-up in surrender. “Is it possible she doesn’t want to talk to you?”

“Obviously, I’ve thought about it. And, so have you, since it’s something you can relate to. But Willow saw me through my bad times. I won’t sit by and let her destroy her life just because she doesn’t want to let me in. The same goes for you.

“I gave you Africa because, as crazy as it sounded, it fit better than a domestic disturbance blown out of proportion. But now, I’m not so sure. I’m going to pack my tiny bag of mostly dirty clothes then I’m going to my flat, or at least, what
was
my flat, to try and get some answers.”

“Magdalena, the guys who attacked us yesterday were professional hit men.”

Mags sank into her chair at that heavy dose of reality. “Hit men?”

“Ex-royal military with some covert ops experience is my best guess. My people should have some information on them by this evening. Tomorrow at the latest. Then we can see what connections we can draw from there.”

“By
your
people
, you mean…?” Again he didn’t bite. “Fine, but I’d like to check on Willow and try to help figure out this whole mess.”

Law’s cheek wrinkled with a smile. “I know you want to help, but you’ll do that by staying safe and tucked away.”

Magdalena pulled her spine straight and leaned into his space. “Do you really want to be locked in a room with me, all day and all night?”

His gaze lowered to her mouth then lower still. When his green eyes returned to hers, a glower surrounded them.

She flashed a smile at their waiter and the young bloke walked over. “We need the check, please.”

G
ood judgment passed
Law on the highway, speeding in the opposite direction of Cardiff. With two hours motoring toward the first place Magdalena had been attacked, he had every opportunity to clutch the brakes or slide off an exit and turn the fuck around. But he barreled into the trim port city, Magdalena clutching his sides, because her instincts were correct in all likelihood. Other than the missing files at her father’s house and her trip to the DRC, nothing tied the incident to Africa. A harder look at the inciting drama rocking his ordered world seemed the wisest course of action. A shit ton better than sitting in a hotel room wallowing in the mire of his own hell.

He was a first rate prick who deserved every smack or scowl Magdalena wanted to dole. If only she’d popped him hard enough to jar the fear from his skull. He’d thought the near miss at his flat had cured him.
That’s what you get for thinking, chump.

Three little scars had changed the game while he ran down field. He’d come to terms, lumpy and uncomfortable as they were, about the possibility of losing Magdalena. But a helpless child, with her wild hair and spray of freckles? He couldn’t explain the aloofness of the reaper or the finality of death to a puerile mind, nor could he survive their untimely end. He wanted to be as brave as Magdalena, to love free and wide regardless of the potential fallout. For now, he’d have to settle for figuring the one solvable mystery at hand.

He circled the block twice, looking for potential threats, before parking the Harley between two dumpsters off the back alley and sliding off. Flipping open the saddlebag, Law retrieved a small forensics kit and extra magazine and shoved them into the pockets of his jacket. The thing kept him toasty on winter days and cooked him alive on summer ones, like today, but it was the best way to carry both his Sauers without notice.

“This way.” Magdalena moved through the heavy metal rear access door of a newer glass, brick, and stucco building.

Hand on his sidearm, Law followed close behind, scanning the deserted corridors for any sign of trouble. The teenage girl with shorts as obscenely short as Magdalena’s didn’t count as a threat. At least, not to him. The stare his fiery little woman gave the gawking youth said otherwise. He smiled at Magdalena’s back then kicked himself for branding her as his when he couldn’t be the man she needed.

But Lord, he wanted to mark her. To make her his and never let her go.

“It’s that one.” She pointed at a neatly painted white door on the other side of the balustrade.

“Once we get in, stay behind me.”

Magdalena slid the key into the door and regarded him with those soft green eyes. Fear and determination swam in their depths, along with a little sadness and something else. Love. He’d seen the look in a woman’s gaze once before. Then, it made him invincible. Now, it humbled him like a puddle at her feet.

Why were the women he loved so damn fearless? Clara took on death with a straight chin. Magdalena saw the ugliest side of him and fought the skeletons away with her sassy mouth, tenacious spirit, and bare hands while he sat on the sidelines. It was in his nature to confront and battle the injustices in the world. Yet, he’d allowed his own fears the latitude to corrupt his life.

Determined to combat his weakness and face his fear, no matter the result, Law placed his hand over her delicate fingers. “Magdalena, I don’t know how to love you.” Her lips spread as though she were about to light into him. “But—”

Both their heads snapped at noise from beyond the apartment’s door. Like the squeak of a chair dragged or a heavy piece of furniture being shoved across a wooden floor, wood groaned against wood in an unmistakable sound of human presence. Law scooped Magdalena behind him and twisted the key. He pulled his Sig from its holster, flipped the safety, and grabbed the knob.

“Don’t shoot Willow,” Magdalena whispered.

“What does she look like?”

“My height, but skinnier. Brown hair and eyes.”

Law nodded. “Watch our backs.”

Her adamant nod tugged at his jacket, which she held in a death grip at the lower hem. Law turned the knob, clearing the latch, closed his eyes, and strained to hear any noise from inside the flat through the thin gap he created. He held the wood-finished handle of his gun at the ready, but eased his left hand up in a countdown for Magdalena. Three. Two. One. They moved with surprising grace, her tight against his back, through the doorway.

Law’s sight adjusted instantly to the dim entrance, scanning right to left for the barrel of enemy guns. None presented themselves. Magdalena closed the door behind them, her white knuckles threatening to strangle the knob if it made a sound. As they moved deeper into danger Law swept the kitchen in silence, finding only a sleek modern arrangement of appliances and clean lined furniture in the living area beyond. Everything from the dishtowel hanging to the left of the sink and the magazines stacked on the small living room table rested pertly in its place. No huge pieces of furniture provided an opponent a vantage point against them. Still, irritation tickled his nape. Things were too quiet.

His pace increased, as did his wariness, as he cleared the first bedroom, a soft palate of lilac and white that seemed incongruous to the lightning rod of a woman behind him. But it smelled like the wild vanilla of her skin. The closet doors gaped open. Its contents littered the floor, but the articles weren’t tossed as those at her father’s house had been. These lay shoved in small piles in a deliberate path to the back corner. A mallet and red ball leaned against the far joint of the wardrobe. He discounted the mess as one Magdalena had created while trying to save her friend like she’d recounted.

The last bedroom sat pin neat, every last colorful pillow in its place atop the bed. By design, three paintings hung askew above the headboard. A rift between the windowsill and bottom frame caught his attention, but he held himself back. Law’s gaze swung to the buttoned-up closet opposite the foot of the bed. He removed Magdalena’s hands from his jacket and stayed her at the doorway with a raised palm. He pointed two fingers at his eyes then turned them out the doorway. With a hesitant gnaw of her lip, Magdalena’s gaze left him and the ominous closet it bounced between and locked on the corridor.

Law holstered his Sig, opting to have both hands free in the close quarters. He eased toward the closet and wrenched the door open. He didn’t bother using the paltry wood as a shield, but attacked the interior like a grizzly busting open a garbage can in search of a meal. Dresses and vibrant tops fell from the rod. Shoes cascaded from their neatly stacked boxes.

When he came up one bad guy short, a growl rumbled from his throat.
Someone was just here and you tipped them off, getting all sappy.
Law’s gaze snagged the window and he launched himself at it. Fingers curled under the edge, he heaved the thing open. The same screech they’d heard earlier pierced the air.

Careful not to get his head shot off, Law peered out enough to see a dark iron fire escape snuggled to the side of the building. He leaned over the edge and watched a man jump from the lowest landing to the street below. The bloke took the fifteen-foot drop and hit the concrete below on the balls of his feet, curled into a ball, and rolled up from the crouch in one fluid motion.

Law admired the free-runner types. What they did with their bodies was nothing short of amazing, but fuck he hated chasing them. It always ended with a bullet in their ass and him sucking wind like an old geezer.

“Stay here,” Law barked. But before he could leap onto the escape, the speedy chap veered into the alley, headed for the back of the building. “Damn.” He turned into the apartment. “Lock the door behind me.” With everything he had, Law propelled himself through the flat and into the stairwell. He took each set of stairs in a single leap, steadying each jarring impact on the lands with his grip on the railing.

Light but rapid footfalls sounded a story above his head and irritation tickled his spine. Magdalena hadn’t listened. The accompanying breathy gasps gave her away, but he couldn’t stop to reprimand her for putting herself in harm’s way. Law doubled his efforts, putting as much distance between himself and Magdalena as he could while closing the span between himself and the man he pursued. He needed answers and it was bloody time he got them.

Sweat stung his eyes, but he didn’t bother wiping it away. Two more bounds and he landed in the main lobby. Law turned to the back of the building and surged down the corridor he and Magdalena had entered minutes ago. He slowed only enough to shoulder the door and push through it.

Lightning flashed in his eyes so brilliant and painful he’d swear the sky opened and struck him down as soon as his feet hit the pavement. His skull threatened to shatter at the force. He gripped it with both hands, holding the shards together as the world tilted and he met the hard surface with a
thud
.

The
whack
of impact at his ribs gave Law the first clue that he hadn’t been struck down by the thunder god. A hail of blows tenderized his gut and his body took over, balling into the fetal position. The brunt of each hit burned his belly and sent bile pitching toward his throat.

Law struggled to open his eyes, but they refused his commands like some critical nerve had been severed. Hell, he couldn’t even see where the attack came from. Training overrode instinct and Law focused on the senses he had to locate his attacker. Bits of gravel and sand crunched in front of him and the kicks originated from the same place each time, even the same damn foot—a foot covered with a steel toe boot.

Magdalena’s gut-rending scream compelled his left eye open just enough to see her petrified form fixed at the far end of the corridor. Her face contorted in a broken expression of horror. Only still for a moment, she ran for him. Fear shredded his heart, making a mockery of the anxiety he managed before. Magdalena ran toward certain death. No matter what he tried, half beaten to his own demise he was no match for this son of a bitch. If he grabbed for his gun, the man would just as likely rip it from his grasp and shoot the two of them with it.

Law breathed as deeply as he could, kicked the man’s left foot, and crawled to the door. Magdalena’s face brightened then fell as he closed her inside. “Run,” he hollered. But only a rasped choke escaped his lips. He collapsed the weight of his torso against the door and faced his attacker. And found two through the slit of his lid. The one he’d seen drop from the escape dusted the leg of his blue jeans. The other held Magdalena’s cricket bat in his meaty hand.

The door jarred as his sweet Magdalena pushed against the door. Her screams filled his ears. And he regretted so much. Bringing her here. Acting rash and barreling into the situation without adequate recon or back up. Not being strong enough to take these fuckers out. But most, he regretted not telling her how much he loved her.