Justice Mine: a Base Branch Novel (7 page)

“
W
hat
?” Magdalena’s gaunt features turned ghostly white. “Why? We have to tell the police what happened. You killed…because of me…three men are dead.”

Law stuffed the disturbing papers into his pocket and carried their wallets, keys, and phones over to Magdalena. He dumped the collection into her lap then hoisted her off the couch in the crook of his arms. “I know you don’t get any of this. I’m still processing, and I am far more accustomed to this sort of thing than you.” His gaze traveled to the corpses littering Baine’s estate. “Just not this close to home.” She dropped his phone into the pile and wrapped one arm around his neck. With the other she grabbed her big tote. “I need you to trust me. Trust me to keep you and everyone we love safe. And don’t ever try and sacrifice yourself for me. Clear?”

“Clear,” she rasped.

As he hurried through the house, much like they’d entered it, he asked. “Do you have clothes at your dad’s?”

“Yes.” Her mousey voice dragged him over hot coals, but he didn’t have time to worry about her emotional state. Her physical well-being took precedence at the moment.

Law shoved his feet into his boots without socks and yanked his jacket off the hook. Magdalena’s eyes zeroed in on his chest. The pink of her pretty mouth formed an O.

“Your cuts! Am I hurting you?”

“All superficial. Quit worrying about me, Magdalena.”

He strode through the back door. Since the frame lay in splintered pieces on the ground he didn’t worry about closing it. He carried her into her dad’s house, which boasted a matching frame, and up the stairs into the bedroom she’d occupied as a little girl. While completing the plumbing job he’d passed it several times, but refused to enter, hoping if he didn’t he’d rid himself of her haunting presence more quickly.

He sat her on the bed and scooped the heap in her lap into the green bag. Then he shrugged on his leather jacket and zipped the front. “I need you to pack a bag with enough clothes to last you a few days, but small enough to carry on your back. Can you walk enough to do that?”

“Yeah, I think so,” she whispered. Her eyes saucered, but her pupils weren’t dilated.

“Socks?” He turned toward a short bureau.

“Top left.”

Law grabbed a pair of socks and eased them onto her feet. “You have three minutes.” He turned toward the door.

“Where are you going?” The desperation in her voice kicked him in the solar plexus.

“I have to see about the other body.” He kept walking, unwilling to look upon the disgust certainly marring her sweet face.

Following the scent of foul barbecue, Law found the third chump in the bushes by the sitting bench of the side yard. The charred lower half of the body told Law he didn’t burn to death, but died of smoke inhalation. The bloke hadn’t planned on the firebomb he’d thrown into the house changing direction and coming for him. With exercised caution, he extricated the guy’s phone and wallet from his pockets, but found no keys.

When he returned to collect Magdalena, she walked toward the front door on her socked feet, shuffling from side to side in a slow but steady pace. The black slacks she wore scraped the floor and the tattered blouse billowed around her middle. A book-bag strap hung over her right shoulder, further impairing her stability.

“Why didn’t you wait for me?”

“Because I couldn’t sit and think. I needed to move.” She swatted a wayward group of strands from her brow.

“I get it.” He closed the gap between them and lifted the bag from her shoulder. “Do you need your green bag?”

“No, I consolidated. The phones and
other
things are in the small outside zipper, and here’s your phone.”

“Perfect,” he breathed. She laid the phone in his hand and her fingertips grazed his callused hand. A lump knotted his throat. She was perfect, for him. And she was everything he’d given a wide berth over the last seven, or was it eight, years now.

Law slung the satchel onto his back and bent to scoop Magdalena into his arms.

“I was making it on my own, you know?”

“A damn fine effort, but the rocks are sharp and we’ve gotta go.”

“What’s the big hurry? What did you find that changed your mind so suddenly?”

He ignored the question and walked to the garage entrance, punched in the code, maneuvered them through the door, and locked it. He elbowed the lights and hurried through the open bay to his one and only lady, a black and chrome Harley Davidson Springer Classic.

“I’m not riding that thing,” Magdalena said with a vehement shake of her head, her mussed strands wagging at him for emphasis.

“Yes. You are,” Law countered. He sharpened his point by setting her lush ass sidesaddle on the small rear seat.

Her hands sank into the leather of his jacket, holding him close. “I’ve never ridden one of these things.”

Prying her fingers from his collar and sleeve he liberated the riding jacket from her grip. “She’s not a thing. She’s a Hog, and,” he added before turning away, “I’m happy to be your first.”

That shut her up and rosed her cheeks to a high blush. While she stewed he hurried across to the safe tucked behind an old sheet of plywood and confiscated his holstered Sig Sauers. The cherry wood grips peeked from beneath the leather and blew him a kiss. He stripped the jacket and struggled on the guns. His cuts ran the lines of superficial wounds, but they sure stung like a bitch.

Magdalena’s gasp echoed in the hollow concrete and brick interior, but he ignored her for the moment. An achievement deserving of a medal. He slipped into the coat, zipped, pulled out four loaded magazines, and secured the safe.

She studied him with her green gaze as he walked toward the bike. She’d kicked a leg over the side of the bike, and, aside from her missing footwear and shell-shocked expression, she hugged it between her thighs like a natural. He couldn’t help but appreciate how the rounds of her bottom kissed the black leather. Good Lord, the things he could do with an ass like that.

“Who are you?”

While he loaded the saddlebags with her belongings and two of the magazines, he tried to ease her mind, as much as he could. “Lawrence Pierce, tart. I know you have a million questions rattling around that head of yours and I’ll do my best to answer the ones I can, but not here, not now. Okay?”

Magdalena sucked in a ragged breath and exhaled it slowly on a nod. “Okay, for now.” He handed her an extra helmet and she balked like he’d handed her a rat. “I’m not wearing that thing. It’ll suffocate me. Look, it doesn’t even have breathing holes.” She gestured to the blacked-out full face shield.

“There’s plenty of ventilation. Plus, it will hide your face from whoever’s looking and protect your head, in case.”

“In case, what?”

“A life and death situation and you’re going to argue over a helmet? Put it on your pretty head, Magdalena. Now.”

Law woke his phone’s sleeping screen and squinted at the time. It’d run past the five minute allotment he’d given them to get the hell out of there, but he had one more thing to do before they could leave. Indecision never addled his brain before, but as he grew to expect, nothing was normal where Magdalena was involved. Not one damn thing. More reluctant to leave her alone than for her to hear the call he needed to make, he chunked caution into the can, turned his back to Magdalena, and dialed.

“Juliet. Uniform. Sierra. Tango. India. Charlie. Echo. One. Nine. Four. Five.”

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

“K. Slaughter.”

“Bored already? I told you I didn’t want to see your ugly mug or hear from you for three weeks.”

“I’d tell you how much you miss me, but I don’t have the time.”

“What’s wrong?”

“I need clean up at Baine’s.”

“Christ, have you been compromised?” Her words were all business, but her voice squeaked a little at the end.

Law pictured his boss and dear friend as she likely sat now, behind the desk she’d worked so hard for and often resented for keeping her out of the action. Her fist probably threatened to snap the pen in her hand. Grey eyes clouded, ready to strike a man down with a blink. Few could overlook her damn crazy orange-red painted lips pinched in a grimace sharp enough to make some fellows run for the hills and seductive enough to make others kneel at her feet.

“Negative. It’s family trouble.” As soon as the words left his mouth he knew he should’ve said it differently.

“Oh, my God. Lill and Love,” Khani gasped.

“No, Baine’s family, not mine,” he said.

“I hate to sound callous, but thank fuck. I couldn’t handle anything happening to them. Now, tell me what in bloody hell is going on,” she demanded.

“I’ll message you details and some names I need you to run in twenty. Just get the maids pronto,” he begged.

Khani growled into the line. “Fine. Anything you need, let me know. It’s yours. On or off the books.”

“Thanks,” he said before ending the call.

Law turned to Magdalena, and, ignoring her hanging jaw, kicked a leg over his Hog. He guided the stand up with his boot then slid the key from the pocket where he’d stowed his phone and shoved it into the ignition. One of Magdalena’s hands grabbed the hem of his jacket hesitantly, like the thought of touching him after seeing his dark side revolted her. And though it was all for the best, it raised his hackles.

He reached both his hands behind his back and found her thighs. His hands smoothed down her legs. At the crook of her knee Law tightened his grip and yanked her toward him. Lust punched through his cock as open legs engulfed his butt in supple warmth. He hunted her wrists then pulled her chest against his back, wrapping her arms around him. Careful not to jar her, he let his hands glide over the backs of hers. Desire stirred him this way and that. Wanting to protect her. Wanting to be rid of her. Wanting her.

Magdalena’s chest expanded and narrowed against his back in easy succession for a moment before she rested her head on his shoulder blade. Her voice came in a whisper. “I was right.”

Law started the engine, raised the garage door, and set them off through the uncertain night.

M
agdalena followed
James Bond up a second flight of stairs. She’d insisted on walking, which made the muscles in Law’s jaw frantic, but he’d obliged. More importantly, he carried her bag and kept an easy pace as she lugged her dashed body. If he rounded to the next set of stairs she’d need a break before she went farther. Every cell in her body quivered from shock and exhaustion. When he headed for the never-ending succession of steps she focused on conquering one at a time.

Thankfully he turned onto a well-lit corridor and unlocked the first door he came to. Law flipped on a light and a one-room flat spread out before them, its interior nearly vacant except for a mattress on the floor between two windows and stacks of books lining either side of the makeshift bed. To the right, an open kitchen protruded. A small refrigerator, oven range, and counters clung to the wall. Across from it, counters mirrored the others, but where a range would sit, a sink took its place. Beyond the kitchen, in the far opposite corner, a partition wall gave little privacy to the shower, sink, and vanity. It did a good job of hiding the toilet, if the place had one.

Magdalena shoved that thought into the dark corner. With her awkward shuffle she headed straight for the bed. She didn’t care whose it was. So long as mice or cockroaches didn’t try to snuggle she’d be fine. Justice-1943, Law, or whoever the hell he was, moved to the windows. He peered out while she collapsed onto the surprisingly soft duvet. Every muscle in her body melted from her bones as finally the last drop of adrenaline leaked from her system. If bad guys stormed the tower, they could take her. Right now she wasn’t worth killing.

But then she wouldn’t have to move, would she? Law, her self-appointed guardian, crossed the room to a small closet. He hung her bright pink bag on the door hook and rummaged in the outside pocket. At the tile countertop he spread wallets and phones across the space, studying each in turn.

Fingers as deft as a teenage girl’s flew across the keyboard of his phone as he, and she guessed here, sent the information he’d promised to K. Slaughter. When she’d heard the term, at first she thought it was more code speak. After eavesdropping on the one-sided conversation, she supposed it was his superior, but she couldn’t be sure. Not about anything.

Magdalena’s ordered world had shifted a bit during her internship. Her eyes were opened to the wonders and horrors of humanity. The shift gave her a sense of purpose. It quieted the static in her head that had played in the background since her mother’s death. The events of the past two days flipped her shit completely upside down. Unwilling to lift her head, she raised her swollen knuckle into view. Purple tinted the fair skin already. But her hands hurt more from holding tight to the fabric of her toppled world than it did from the rude meeting with the glass door.

“Laird.”

Magdalena’s skin seemed to leap off her body for an instant then snap back into place.
Law’s voice. Nothing to worry about.
She reassured herself.
But who’s he talking to?
She raised her head and scanned the room. Aside from Law, who spoke into his phone, the room remained empty. Gravity gathered her back to the mattress.

“Yeah, I’m still here,” Law said. “There’s been a threat. I need you to coral Pops and Poppy for a couple days, Lill and the kids too, and warn the others to be alert.”

Suddenly her exhaustion vanished. She bolted upright and her gaze tangled with Law’s.

He watched her. Consumed her with his eyes. “I should have it squared in a day or two. I’ll let you know.” He disconnected the call.

“I’ve waited, very patiently, but I need to know what’s going on. Who were you talking to?” Her plea echoed in the room.

Law walked around the counter. The black leather hugged his body like an expensive glove. He should’ve looked ridiculous in lounge pants, thick boots, and a riding jacket. But the mixture of textures had her fingers itching to feel them again. His shoes stopped only a foot away from her clasped hands, draped over her knee. She could touch them, if she’d only reach out.

Magdalena craned her neck to maintain eye contact. The usual disparagement in their height brought her gaze to his pecs. Should she look now she’d get a full view of the heavy package he toted at the juncture of his thighs. The inequity in their stratum could have bathed her in feelings of inferiority. But lust flashed over Law’s schooled features, sending a heady sense of power coursing in her veins.

One of his hands gripped his phone and the other took the familiar detour over his close-cropped hair. “The bloke you called Davis had this in his back pocket.”

She accepted the piece of paper Law retrieved from his own pocket and unfolded the banal white sheet. Her breath caught as she read the list of names and addresses. The first three she knew. Her name and address at Cardiff. Her father’s name with Baine’s address and a note, indicating he lived in the guesthouse. Baine’s name and address and a note, demanding they discern his relationship to her.

Mags placed her hand on her stomach in an effort to settle her rattling nerves. Of the last five on the list she only recognized one thing they all had in common. The last name. Pierce.

“Oh no,” she gasped. Her hand shot up to her mouth as her stomach threatened another revolt.

Law plucked her from the bed and hurried to the water closet. As they turned the corner, the white toilet gleamed in the bulb light like the greatest gift she’d ever received. Her feet met the ground, but Law braced her back with one arm and collected her hair with the other. The lid and seat leaned against the high tank attached to the wall. Mags gripped the open lid and waited for the retched churning in her gut to expel itself from her body. Maybe then she could breathe without the weight of a Red Bus parked on her ribs.

She waited, but the release never came. Neither did relief. The water in the bowl rippled once, twice, three and four times as tears fell from her eyes. A sob broke through her lips and there was nothing she could do except hold on until her body finished with her. Law turned her into him, tucking her face in the lee of his chin and encircling her quaking body in his arms.

He slid down the wall, settling them on the floor. His torso rocked slowly side to side as he held her close, comforting her like one would a child. After a while Magdalena’s sobs receded to hiccupped breaths then finally quieted. The thump of his heartbeat resonated in her ear, lulling the last of her pent anxiety.

She swallowed and cleared her throat to speak. “I don’t want anyone else hurt because of me. Not your family. Not mine. I don’t know how I’d—"

The pad of Law’s thumb pressed onto her lips, but fell away too soon. “Enough of that. You’re not responsible for the actions of crazy people. You’ve done nothing wrong and even if you did, you wouldn’t deserve what those three had in mind.”

Mags snuggled closer to the rumble of his chest as he continued. “Your father and Ruth are guarded. Baine is in no danger. And my family can take care of themselves.”

When he spoke of his family pride, deepened his voice, and it brought the first hint of a smile to her lips in far too long. “Your brother, Laird? Is he…does he do what you do?”

He huffed, but it held no anger. Only a little irritation. “Laird is in the Royal Marines. Larkin the Royal Army. Lovella is a detective. But even Luca and Lilliana, our not-so-starving artists, can hold their own against any of us.”

“Does your dad run a military training academy or something?”

Law’s chest shook with laughter. “Or something.”

When he didn’t expound she poked him in the ribs. “That’s it? That’s all you’re gonna say?”

“You really want to know?”

“Yes,” she answered emphatically. Law intrigued her, as did his massive family, but more than that, if he talked about this she wouldn’t think about all the other stuff.

He nodded. “Okay. My grandfather was a diplomat and Pop grew up in the states. He trained with Royce Gracie. Learned Brazilian Jiu Jitsu. And he started teaching all of us before we could hardly walk.”

“Who’s Royce Gracie?”

“You’re killing me, Magdalena,” he said with an exaggerated shake of his head. “Only one of the best martial artists
of all time.”

She actually giggled at his mock exacerbation. “You have a big family.”

“Yeah, big and loud, and growing by the years. Lilliana, my older sister, married four years ago and has two kids with another on the way. Then there’s Khani and Zeke Slaughter who my mom practically adopted when we were all kids.”

Law tilted his head to meet her gaze and again his virile beauty struck her silly. His eyes still glimmered from laughter and a relaxed smile curved his lips. “You know a little about me. Now it’s time for you to share a little more about you.”

His tone implied,
Why don’t you tell me how you got yourself into this mess in the first place?

She shrugged, not knowing the correct response.

“Not going to cut it. Start at the beginning again. We need to see if we missed anything.”

Mags opened her mouth to protest, but a vibration against her hip stopped the words on her lips. She levered back, allowing him to retrieve the device, and awed at their closeness. It seemed so comfortable only seconds ago. But his hand grazed her hip and suddenly the currents shifted. The strength of its pull, his pull, flushed her body with heat that gathered in a pit of molten desire between her legs and frightened her to the edge of his lap.

When she teetered, his thick forearm steadied her. Some of the impact of his affect ebbed as his gaze left her to check the screen of his phone. A tiny fraction of the overwhelming urge to wrap her legs around his hips and never let go fell away, allowing her breaths to flow more evenly and her brain to shift out of
fuck him
gear.

“Hey, Poppy, I can’t really talk right now,” he answered.

She wondered if Poppy was another in his long list of siblings, or a cousin perhaps. Law’s furrowed brow told her he didn’t like what he heard from the other side of the phone.

“He’ll take care of it. He’s not a kid anymore. Trust him to do what’s right. I have to go.” After a pause he said, “I love you too, Mum.”

Law set the cell on the floor beside his leg and met Magdalena’s gaze. Her anger must have shown on her face loud and clear because he recoiled. A shrug came next. “What?” he asked incredulously. “I’m a little busy.”

“Not too busy to talk for five minutes,” she retorted.

His lower lip tucked into his mouth then he dragged it through his teeth, considering her. “You’re just trying to avoid my questions.”

“No,” she said in a whisper. “I’d give anything to talk to my mother just once more. You have yours. Don’t waste the time.”

“That’s a balls-hard blow, if I’ve ever taken one.” Law shook his head, but grabbed his phone.

Mags seized the opportunity for some space. “While you talk to your mum, I’d like to get cleaned up. If that’s all right?”

The point of his knuckle smoothed the skin just above her cut lip. “Sure. Towels are under the sink.”

When she stood and headed for the main room, his hand curled over her shoulder, and it took every bit of strength she had not to arch into his touch.

“I’ll fetch your bag,” he said.

His fingers remained, soaking through the thin fabric of her blouse for a moment longer then his sturdy boots thudded across the floor. Magdalena’s cheeks puffed as she billowed a huff. This was no time to fall into bed with a man. But old habits apparently lived long and died hard.

Law returned with the phone to his ear, nodding as he listened. His left lid closed over his wicked green eye in the signature wink that acted like a welder’s torch to her resolve. He turned away and Magdalena’s gaze zeroed in on his nape. She never found the area erotic. Until now. The curve of his skull sloped down and tapered slightly. Tan skin shown through the base of his prickly hair and four distinct grooves grew from his hairline. They defined two cords of grainy muscles that disappeared behind his short collar, connecting with the framework of brawn she’d seen earlier.

Damn.

Mags stepped up to the mirror and immediately regretted the action. Her hair could house a family of raccoons with all its knots and fly-aways. Judging by the black smears around her eyes, she could join them. A red nose and flushed cheeks from crying, or embarrassment at her appearance, accentuated the blood red of her crusty upper lip. A lip that had nearly, or just barely, touched Law’s.

She started pulling pins from her fallen hair and set out to shower and make something presentable of herself. It took some scrubbing, some huddling in the corner to keep from flashing her generous ass, and some careful combing to straighten her hair without hurting her arm. But she rounded the partition about an hour later with a slow, confident gate. As assured as she could strive for in an unfamiliar place, wearing a cotton tank and shorts, wondering who in the world was after her, why, and who in the world her brother’s housemate actually worked for and if Baine was part of it too.

Magdalena’s head pounded from ramming into too many dead ends. Law didn’t look like he faired any better. His playful demeanor from earlier had vanished. In its place his expression bordered on harsh. The set of his jaw froze in flex. His gaze followed her, but never softened as she neared the bed. She sat her bag on the wooden floor at the end of the mattress and took another step, bringing her even with Law where he stood rigidly on the other side of the pallet.

“How’s your mum? Scared, I’m sure.”

“Nah, she’s pissed. Laird won’t let her go on her girls’ weekend to Hugh Town.”

“I’d boil too. It’s beautiful there. The ocean outside your window and the sand only a stroll away. I hate she can’t go because of me.”

“They’ll reschedule,” he said flatly. His gaze dropped to the bed then rose to her. “I’d offer to sleep on the floor, but I’m not that chivalrous. I need some sleep or I won’t be good for anything tomorrow.”

Her fingers knotted behind her back, but she bobbed her head. “It’s fine by me.”