Justice Mine: a Base Branch Novel (18 page)

“
Y
ou’re not going
without me,” Magdalena shot back. “This is my mess and I intend to see it through.”

Law’s thickly stubbled jaw flexed as he shook his head. “It’s not your mess. It’s Weaver’s mess and I am fully prepared to make him a weeping, bloody mess in order to get the answers I want.” He stepped toward her and brushed his fingertips over her bare arm. “You’ve already seen too much. You already know too much about what we do.

“For Christ’s sake, tart, you’ve already seen me kill four…no, fuck, five men. I won’t expose you to any more ugliness. You deserve beauty and happiness. So does the lady you’re staying with.”

Magdalena turned to Khani who gave a wane smile and shrugged. Fear rattled inside her chest like an old-world, chain-shaking ghost. It irritated her battle worn heart and set her stomach on perma-queazy.

“If you leave me here, I’ll go insane,” she promised.

“Oh, come on. Slaughter isn’t that bad,” Law crooned.

Magdalena filed her gaze to a point and he stepped closer, planting a kiss on her forehead. “You worried about me, tart?”

“What if…you need help,” she said in a pitifully wet voice.

“He won’t be alone,” Khani offered in cool dispassion.

That earned her a head tilt from Law. “Besides your snipers, everybody is on assignment.”

“Incorrect,” Khani said.

“Oh, come on.” A burst of heat radiated from the thick chest nearly touching her own. “He’s shot, stupid, and a son-of-a-bitch.”

“Word from the old guard is, Street is about as hot-headed and reckless as you and Baine were when you started. He’s anything but stupid. The bloke tested off the charts. So, he’s probably smarter than the three of us combined. Sure, he needs to be reigned in, which is why I’m sending him out with a grandpa like you. As to the son-of-a-bitch, there are many bitches in this world. Myself included.”

Magdalena didn’t get all the nuances of Khani’s address, but Law did. He exhaled in a rush. His wickedly warm breath blew over her breasts, turning her nipples to shameless peaks. “Are you happy now? I have to baby-sit a James Bond Einstein Casanova.”

“Don’t break a hip,” she teased.

Before she could move he placed both hands on her cheeks, wrapped his fingers around her nape, and pulled her to his mouth. His lips bombarded hers with firm strokes, slanting over her slackened chops from every angle. With an artful maneuver he opened her mouth with his own and slipped his tongue inside, sliding it against hers with instinctual perfection. He broke the kiss as quickly as he’d started it.

“I might. With you. When this is done,” he growled. Law touched a kiss to the end of her nose, turned around, and left her in muted fury.

Khani allowed her to brood for a handful of minutes, pacing like the caged animal she was, but too soon she chimed in. “It’ll help if we’re productive while he’s gone. And wearing a trench into the carpet isn’t time well spent. So, how about we brainstorm while you patrol?” Mags nodded her concession. “Excellent. We can try and piece together the financials a little further and form a clearer picture of the power flow through the shell company. We can also—”

“Can you run your facial recognition on this girl?” Magdalena scrambled to the computer and clicked on the second of twenty windows opened on her screen. Up popped the picture of Weaver with the young co-ed.

“Sure, but why?”

“Look at the date stamp. This picture was taken close to the company’s inception, four years ago.” Magdalena clicked on the next few windows. “She’s in several pictures at different events, like she was the face of the company. Their spokesperson. She knows something. I’ll bet my Lula polka-dot Sophia Websters on it.”

“What size do you wear?”

“A three.”

The twinkle in Khani’s eyes dulled and she pursed her lips. “I wear a seven, tiny toes.” She straightened the leg crossed over her other and preened her sizable shoe for Mags.

“I’ll buy you a pair. Please, just look her up. I can’t stay here and do Internet searches while Law is out there risking…everything.”

“You win. Only because I hate waiting around too. More than you’ll ever know.”

They purred to a stop in front of a small country cottage thirty-five minutes from the hotel nearly that many minutes later. It hadn’t taken Khani long to run the facial diagnostic and locate Jessica Watts.

“Let me handle this, okay?” Khani’s voice hovered in that non-emotional tone of authority.

“Not a chance. You order trained killers around for a living and intimidate the hell out of us common folk. Did you see the way the man at the petrol station eased off? You’ll scare this women into her shell before you open your mouth.”

Something passed over Khani’s face that made Magdalena’s stomach ache. Maybe Khani was a hard ass, but it didn’t mean she didn’t have feelings all the same. “I’m sorry,” she whispered.

“You’re right. There’s always a curve with civilians, and you’re a journalist. This is your area of expertise. So, have at it.”

“Thank you for not calling me a bitch…or a reporter.”

They shared a small giggle before exiting the car and walking up the pea-gravel path. Mags knocked on the paint-chipped front door and stepped back by Khani, hoping she exuded enough warmth with her smile to assure whomever answered the door. Khani leaned in and whispered.

“A small kid lives here too.”

“How you know?”

“Wind chimes.” Khani’s head canted toward a line of hand-painted sticks hanging lengthwise tied to a much longer stick.

Mags nodded. Only a parent would be proud enough to hang the precious monstrosity nearly front and center on the house. Finally the door opened. A shrunken old woman with a shock of white hair stepped forward.

“Can I help you?” The older woman sized them up with obvious rakes of her blue eyes.

“I hope so. My name is Magdalena Wells. I’m looking for Jessica Watts. She and I were both members of Sigma Tau Delta.”

“Well, miss, I don’t know what that is,” the old lady said.

“I’m sorry. It’s an academic honor society,” Mags offered.

“Oh, well, come on in and don’t mind the mess.”

When they stepped through the door Magdalena looked for the mess, as anyone would do when told not to do something, but found none. A meager and tidy farmhouse stretched before them. Wood planks hung a few feet above their heads and stone floors sat beneath their feet. Colorful rugs added comfort to the hard space and the light blue walls brightened it too.

“Call me Grams,” she said, directing them toward a well-worn sofa in den big enough for a flea circus. “Take a seat. I’ll get Jess and bring some tea.”

The lady walked toward the back of the house and, from the sound, opened an exterior door and hollered. “Jess. Company.” The door shut and the house shuddered. Mags cut her gaze at her partner in crime and found a smirk on her face.

“In with Grams. Nice work,” Khani praised.

They listened to Grams skirting about the kitchen, rifling through cabinets, turning on the gas stove, clinking ceramic together. After a weighted minute the back door opened and closed again with the same rattle of the ancient frame. A woman stepped into the room like she approached a firing squad, her steps hesitant and threatening retreat at any sudden move.

Magdalena smiled, but kept quiet, giving Jessica time to settle. But she didn’t take a seat. Her sandy-blonde hair hung in a loose braid down her back. Wisps had fallen from the intricate working and danced at her strained neck. Others clung to her dewy brow. Jessica held her breath for several beats while she eyed them with wary sapphire blue eyes that went wide perusing Khani, but softened a bit when they studied Mags. Jessica’s gaze darted toward the kitchen and her back straightened.

“What do you want?” Her whispered voice held a steady tone.

“We’d like to talk a bit about The Council for Higher Education.” Mags matched her quiet-yet-assertive inflection then watched the color drain from Jessica’s rosy cheeks.

“Are you…police?”

“No,” Mags said.

“Reporters?”

“No,” Mags answered honestly. She was a damned journalist.

“You’re with them,” Jessica said in a squeak.

“Absolutely not.” Mags shook her head. “My best friend got involved with them somehow and I need information, so I can help her.”

Jessica’s braided tail thrashed back and forth at her denial. Tears streamed down her cheek. The back door opened wide enough it smacked into the wall. Jessica gasped a moment before the speedy patter of small feet rolled across the floor like thunder.

“Mummmmy! You didn’t find me forever. I don’t wanna play hide and seek any more. I’m so hot. Can I have a drink?” The little boy spouted all the way through the house until his arms wrapped around Jessica’s shorts-covered thighs, hugging her with squint eyed abandon.

Magdalena’s heart broke, just a little, at the bond she so desperately missed. No one could hug you like your mum could. Not even Law, though his hugs spun a magic all their own. Unlike his mother, the little boy’s hair shimmered almost purple in the streaming light. His dark locks cropped above his ears.

“Dylan,” Jessica whispered, “where are your shoes?”

“I planted them in the garden. Tommy said they would grow a stinky tree.” His tiny shoulders shrugged before his gaze finally caught on her and Khani. He gripped Jessica’s legs with his pudgy hands and hid his face.

“Hi, Dylan. I’m Magdalena, but you can call me Mags. And this is Khani.” She pointed.

“Wow, she’s tall, and you’re little like me,” Dylan said.

His mother scolded him and sent him to Grams for a drink, but Mags chuckled at the kid’s unreserved expressions. To her surprise, Khani laughed too.

When Dylan left, Jessica stepped toward the door. “I am really sorry for your friend, but I can’t tell you anything.”

“I can see you’re afraid of them, Jessica. But you can help us put them away for a long time,” Mags offered.

“I can’t. I won’t lose…what I’ve worked hard to protect.” Jessica lifted her hand, showing them the door.

“Dylan is Haltman Weaver’s son,” Magdalena said above a breath, careful no one in the other room could hear.

Jessica slapped at the torrent cascading down her face. “He is my son.” She stabbed a finger at the door, and mouthed ferociously. “Leave now.”

Magdalena opened her mouth, but Khani grabbed her arm and hauled her off the couch and toward the door. She was two steps onto the gravel walkway before she formed a rebuttal. But again, Khani stole her breath. This time, the warrior’s arm shot out like a snake strike, stopping the door about to be slammed in their faces.

Khani bowed her head. “Did Weaver rape you?”

Jessica swayed on her feet and grabbed the doorframe for balance. She whimpered like a wounded animal then sobbed, “No.”

Are you kidding me?
If that didn’t look like a yes, Mags didn’t know what did.

“Did he coerce you?” Khani’s voice dropped to a whisper.

Jessica covered her beautiful splotched face with both hands and nodded.

“
I
wish
she’d told us more. We have to find Willow. I know she was forced one way or another. She wouldn’t allow someone to abuse her like that and she wouldn’t push me away, unless someone had something over her.”

“Or her dad,” Khani allowed. “And she told us enough, for now. Once she realizes they’re no longer a threat to her, she’ll talk. At least she has her priorities in order.”

“Damn them,” Mags growled. “You know, I’m not a naturally violent person, but I hope Law beats the ability to sport wood from that weasel.”

“Here. Here.” Khani turned the car onto the highway then tapped a button on her sleek leather steering wheel. After a beep, she said, “Lima. Echo. Oscar. Papa. Alpha. Romeo. Delta. One. Nine. Nine. Four.”

After a series of beeps an operator answered. “Voice confirmation complete. Director Slaughter, how may I direct your call?”

“Grizzly.”

“You’ve got the bear. How can I help?” An American voice fit for phone sex or battle cries steamed the car windows, but Khani didn’t seem to notice. She plowed ahead, all business.

“I need an address for the Minister of State for Trade and Investment, the Lord Wren. And I need last activity for his daughter, Willow May Wren.”

When Grizzly chimed in again, they’d only passed a handful of trees on the forest-bordered thoroughfare. “His address is uploaded to your GPS. You’ll arrive on his doorstep at five p.m. Would you like me to make you an appointment, or is this a surprise visit?”

“A polite ambush,” Khani said.

“Sounds fun. Willow Wren’s last banking transaction is a debit at Haskel’s Pizza at eleven fifteen a.m. on July eleventh.”

All the air left Magdalena’s lungs in a rush.

“You’re a gem, Grizz,” Khani lauded.

“Back at ya, Lep,” he agreed.

As soon as the call disconnected, Mags hyperventilated. Her chest convulsed in panic. Khani slammed on the brakes. Horns blared. Instantly, her breathing evened as she braced both hands on the dash and waited for the impact.

“Now, isn’t that better?” Khani eased on the gas and carried on with her skillful drive through growing city traffic. “Freaking out isn’t allowed. You’ve done really well, so far. Don’t make me regret our little escapade.”

Mags bobbed her head.

“If she’s at her dad’s place, like her note said, there’s no reason for her to use her bank account. Pops has plenty of it.”

“Right. You’re right.”

“Tell me about the restaurant.”

“It’s local, only a few blocks from our flat. Has great calzones and a mellow crowd.”

Khani kept up with the open-ended questions and demands for information, most of which was irrelevant. Who really cared what type of fingernail polish Willow wore as long as they found her, safe with her father. It didn’t take Mags long to realize the woman kept her talking to keep her from losing her shit again, and a place in her heart warmed for the cool, take charge giant. In no time at all they parked in front of Lord Charles Wren’s red brick home on Lord North Street of Westminster. The irony sat bitter on her tongue.

Magdalena hopped out of the car and watched as Khani unfolded with cat-like grace, her call sign absolutely fitting.

“How do you want to play this? Will’s my friend, but upper crust aren’t my people,” Mags asked.

“You grew up at Baine’s estate,” Khani countered.

“Yeah, on the estate as the help. None of his family made me feel that way, but we went to the same preppy school. And
those
ass-hats never let me forget it.”

“Well, I grew up in the slum. So, they aren’t my people either.” Her bright lips drew into a half-smirk half-smile.

“Could have fooled me.”

“That’s the idea, anyway.”

“We all have them, don’t we,” Mags sighed.

“Secrets? Yeah. Some more than others. Let’s see what the Lord Wren has in his closet.”

They fell in step together, ambling the short distance to the painted black door. Khani overlooked the gold lion’s head doorknocker and bare-knuckled two strong beats on the wood. A spin later, a boy-toy butler opened the door. The twenty-something chap sported a fine tan, lean muscles, and impeccable bone structure. With his wide shoulders relaxed at a casual slant, he looked more model than houseman.

His smile required sunglasses. “Hello,” he rasped. The come-hither furl of his brow and gentle purse of his lips was too much. Holy hell, he gave butlers a bad name and that set fire to Magdalena’s britches in an irritating, stop, drop, and roll, kind of way. “What can I help you beautiful ladies with today? Or, any other day?”

Gross
. Just disgusting.

“
I’m looking for my roommate, Willow,” Mags said to keep from laying into the guy, and not in the way he wanted.

“Oh, Magdalena,” the guy nodded. “She didn’t tell me you were gorgeous, but I should have known. You obviously keep fit company.” His head inclined toward Khani, rummaging her head to toe. “Are those the new Charlotte Olympia’s? They are sublime.”

“Thanks,” Khani said. “Willow?”

“Sorry, I get carried away sometimes. She’s not here. I’m Roark, by the way.”

“Roark, do you know when she’ll be back?” Mags raised her hand, pulling his attention from Khani’s shoes. Maybe he wasn’t sweet on them after all.

“She stayed here two nights, but left yesterday with a friend. Said they were going out of town for a few days. I didn’t know she had a thing for older guys.” He sighed.

“Older guys,” Mags squeaked.

“Yeah, he may not have been much older than Charles.” He tsked. “Lord Wren, I mean. But the guy certainly doesn’t take care of himself like… Well, he had a paunch and white hair.” He flopped his shoulders. “Who am I to judge?”

Magdalena took the direct hit with no time to feint to the side for a glancing blow. The news charged her with relentless force, knocking the wind from her lungs. She gripped the door before she got intimate with the stoop or garden basket perched on the window to her right.

Khani took over. “We need to see Lord Wren.” When his brows lifted she added, “Please.”

“Step inside and I’ll see if he’s available.”

Khani grabbed her arm and helped Mags up the tiny step. They murmured their thanks and cooperated, clopping their heels and sandals on the checkerboard black-and-white marble of the vestibule. Both watched Roark stroll away. Magdalena whispered. “I’m so confused. And on the verge of vomiting. They have her.”

“It’s most likely, but they won’t for long. We’ve got one of their own. Law sent me a text.”

“Is he okay? What does he know? Did he find Willow?”

“Shhh, he texted green. It means operation in progress, which means he’s more than fine. Pull it together and tell me why you’ve not been here before.”

“Will and I met at school.”

“I’m formulating my deduction about what Wren’s secret is,” Khani conceded. “But I’ll reserve, until after we meet with the man.”

“You’re confident we’ll be seen.”

“Absolutely.”

Not a minute later they were ushered through a modern traditional home with enough recessed and colored lighting to remind Mags of an alien ship. Not that she’d ever seen one, even in films really. A professional decorator, no doubt, had dressed the office they entered in bright white and muted hues of grey like the rest of the house. Thanks to Khani she walked through it on steadier legs.

The Lord Wren sat behind a glass-topped desk and rose when they neared. His chiseled jaw jutted forward and his sturdy shoulders carried the weight of responsibility nicely. The rolled cuffs of his dress shirt, loosened tie, and three unfastened buttons at the top revealed sculpted muscles of an obscenely fit man in his fifties.

“Ladies, I am Charles Wren. It’s nice to meet friends of Willow.” He extended his hand and shook each reciprocating hand in turn with a sure grip. “Would either of you like something to drink?” When they declined the offer, he bowed his head at the man standing behind them. “Thank you, Roark.”

Wren’s gaze followed the man from the room then returned to them. He cleared his throat. “Please, have a seat, and tell me what it is I can do for you.”

“How well do you know Haltman Weaver and Livingston Hues?” Khani asked.

“I’m confused.” His lips thinned in tandem with his brow.

“What do you know about The Council for Higher Education?” Khani pushed on.

“I work occasionally with the two men and I know The Council does good in the education community, giving scholarships and the like to those less fortunate. Now, I thought you were here to talk about Willow. Maybe a surprise birthday party or some such thing. Why are you asking about two of my colleagues and their philanthropy?”

Unwavering, Khani forged ahead
.
“Do you have any secrets to hide, Lord Wren?” His posture took on the air of a corpse, stiffening from the tips of his salt and pepper hair to his toes. “I can see you do, and I believe Hues and Weaver have used that secret to blackmail your daughter.”

“What?” He leaned forward, gripping the edge of his glass desk. “How? I don’t understand who you are, or what you think you know, but I have nothing to hide and my daughter is just fine. She was here two days ago.”

“I am a personal friend of the queen with level Zeta clearance. This is Willow’s flatmate, Magdalena Wells.”

Apparently that clearance business meant something to Will’s father. His eyes took on the characteristics of a hot air balloon, swelling with surprise and threatening to lift right out of his head. He didn’t break his gaze from Khani to acknowledge Magdalena’s friendship with his daughter.

“I thought…that clearance level was myth,” Wren stuttered.

“We’d like to keep it that way,” Khani said with an edge.

“Lord Wren, Willow is a dear friend. She’s been my anchor for the last several years, but more than that, she is a great person. Dependable. Crazy talented. Loyal. Honest.” His gaze found her and two prideful curves bookended his mouth. “I’ve been away for twelve months on a foreign study mission. When I got back I stumbled onto a scene that was so unlike Willow I immediately knew something was wrong. There is no doubt in my mind that Haltman Weaver holds something over your daughter to make her bend to his will.”

“Bend how?” Wren’s voice resonated with authority.

“He sexually assaulted Willow.” His entire body jerked as if he’d been shot. “She refused to talk with me about the incident, but I could tell she hadn’t willfully consented.”

Wren’s entire body vibrated. He tugged at his already loose tie then his hand shot to the phone on his desk.

“That would be an imprudent course of action,” Khani said.

“If what you say is true, then they chose the imprudent course. Not me. I’ll take everything they hold dear and smear it all over Parliament.” Wren seethed.

“Put the phone down. Now.” The control in Khani’s voice brooked no argument. To Magdalena’s amazement, Wren complied. He looked at his hands in stunned amazement then at the woman who’d given him an order. “I have a man on the job in a much better position to handle this without sullying you or your daughter’s good name.”