Protecting Justice (The Justice Series Book 4) (27 page)

Respecting Grey and Syd’s privacy, Fallyn had kept mum, her official statement describing him as a friend. That, of course, only made the media vultures speculate even more.

Let ’em spin it however they wanted. Until Syd—or Grey—told her to come forth with the truth, she was sticking to her friend story.

“Anything else important I should know?”

“There was a package in the mail today.”

Nothing unusual about that. “And?”

The woman hesitated. “There was no return address, but the handwriting is familiar.”

Something about Katrina’s tone made Fallyn’s stomach drop. “Who’s it from?”

Two beats of her heart went by. “I think Heather,” the woman finally said.

Her belly clenched. Her hand holding the phone shook. “Open it.”

Tony glanced her way. She avoided his eyes, setting her attention on the scenery passing by.

Fallyn heard the ripping of an envelope in the background. “It’s a USB drive,” Katrina said.

That boa constrictor was back, squeezing until Fallyn had to lean over to catch a breath. “Is there a note?”

“No. Sorry. Do you want me to see what’s on the drive?”

Tony’s hand caressed her back. “You okay?” he said softly.

“Yes,” she said to him, sitting up. The word worked for Katrina too. “Go ahead while I’m on the phone with you.”

The familiar neighborhood leading to Heather’s townhouse came into view while Katrina plugged in the thumb drive to her computer. “Hmm. Looks like video files but their encrypted. I can’t open any of them.”

Encrypted videos. Holy shit. Had Heather gotten some kind of confession on tape? From who? Ryan? Someone else? “Get Dani on it. ASAP.”

“You got it, boss.”

They disconnected and Fallyn sat looking at her phone. She couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think. For some stupid reason, a memory of her mother shooting videos of them one summer flashed across her brain. She and Heather had been six or seven, splashing in a plastic pool one summer day. Their mother had a new video camera, one that sat on her shoulder as she filmed. “Look at momma, girls!” she called. Fallyn and Heather had made faces at her, splashed water on each other, laughed and giggled, and finally started splashing their mother when she got too close.

“Fallyn?”

Tony’s voice brought her out of her reverie. She shoved her phone in her bag and cleared her throat. Her eyes burned with unshed tears. “Heather sent me a USB with encrypted videos on it,” she said as they pulled up in front of the townhouse.

“Videos? Any idea what those could be?”

“Your guess is as good as mine. My tech person is going to work on them.”

“All right. Sit tight until I check on the house. Is your gun loaded?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Get it out. Anyone approaches, shoot their ass.”

It was good to be back in the present. With Tony. Solid, grounded Tony. “Shoot first, ask questions later?”

He winked at her. “Works for me.”

She waited for him to bail out before grabbing the gun, not wanting him to see her hands were shaking. Waiting was not her forte, but she forced herself to do as he’d asked. The second hand on her watch seemed unusually noisy as it
tick, tick, ticked
off the seconds.

Two minutes passed, then five. Fallyn scanned the front of the townhouse, watched the windows looking for Tony’s shadow.

Nothing.

Come on, Tony.
Where are you?

Had someone been inside? Had they jumped him?

She was about to go storming in with gun raised when he appeared in the doorway. As he approached the truck, she tucked the gun away and sucked in a relieved breath.

A moment later, he escorted her inside. “Place is clear. Everything appears exactly how I left it yesterday.”

“Good.” She dropped her bag and her coat on the couch. She’d held it together until now, but the impending meltdown hovered just under her skin. “Whatever you see and hear for the next couple of moments, go with it, okay?”

One of Tony’s brows rose. “Dare I ask what you’re about to do?”

She grabbed a vase off the nearest display cabinet, an ugly thing Heather had no doubt brought back from some third-world country. “Nope,” she said and promptly flung it to the floor.

Crash!
The vase smashed into a thousand pieces. Fallyn grabbed another knick-knack—an artsy porcelain cat statue—and fast-pitched it at the nearest wall.

Boom!
Bits of porcelain rained down, joining the glass.

She took out the books and DVDs Jordan had so carefully put back into place, clearing a shelf with wild abandon before attacking the next. She beat her fists into the couch cushions and tore a picture from the wall so she could smash the glass against her knee.

When she was done, the living room looked worse than it had after the initial break-in and Fallyn sat, chest heaving, on the floor.

Her ears rang and her pulse raced. If she didn’t know better, she’d think she was having a panic attack.

Heather. Mother.

Gone.

The word was so final. One dead. The other dead to Fallyn, if not physically buried.

Carl. Dad.

Gone in a different way. One never there for her emotionally. The other there when she was growing up, but now he’d lied to her, betrayed her, as well.

The crunch of class echoed in her ear. In her peripheral vision, a man’s leg came into view.

Tony
. He had to think she was crazy.

She glanced up, saw a crooked smile on his face. One big, strong hand reached down. “Shall we do the kitchen next?”

* * *

The following morning, while standing in the kitchen dumping the last batch of broken glass after Fallyn completely trashed her sister’s house, Tony’s phone beeped. He had no doubt this was one of four people.

People being his sisters.

Today was Mom’s party and they’d dogged him with reminders about getting candles, and—oh—they needed an extra disposable tablecloth for something or other. Hell if he knew. All he needed was a list. King of the List. That was him. With a list, he could get shit done. Fast.

He set the dustpan on top of the garbage can and retrieved the text that had just come in. Shannon. With an update to the list. An extra corkscrew. Sure. Why not? After the last few days with Fallyn and this nightmare scenario, the simplicity of checking off a list was a vacation.

Fallyn.

Shit.
He dragged a hand down his face. With Grey in the hospital and Monroe hanging with Syd, who the hell would stay with Fallyn while he went to his mother’s party? Because, there was no way—no way—he could miss that party. Not only did he want to be there, but the abuse he’d take from Team Estrogen would be epic if he wasn’t.

He dipped his head back, stared at the ceiling where just above him footsteps creaked a floorboard. Twelve hours ago, after a much-deserved freak-out, Fallyn crashed hard, landing on top of her sister’s bed and passing out.

The woman was flat-out exhausted so he’d snagged her phone and let her sleep while he repaired the damage she’d done.

He’d even managed a catnap while playing bodyguard. He’d activated the alarm, pushed one of the living room chairs right up to the base of the stairs and slept. If anyone tried to get up those stairs, they’d have had to get through him.

Multitasker and King of the List.
Atta, boy.

He tracked Fallyn’s footsteps, walking along with her. At the staircase, he looked up, spotted her at the top, still in yesterday’s clothes, her hair a rat’s nest and—wow—his body responded. In a big way.

The woman was a mess and yet, he wanted her. All day long.

“Good morning,” she croaked. “Did you steal my phone?”

“I did. You needed rest and that thing goes off constantly. I think the world did okay without you for a few hours.”

She came down the stairs, her eyes on him, and with the crazy hair she looked…demented. Straight out of a B-grade horror flick. If she wanted to yell at him about the phone, so be it. He’d do it again in a nanosecond.

Plus, he wasn’t afraid of her. When she got mad, it turned him on.

Warped.

Totally unhealthy. Had to be. The two together might land them a slot on one of those prime time crime shows after they killed each other.
Breaking news folks, a Supreme Court police officer and a political spin-doctor fucked each other to death after an argument.

He laughed. Couldn’t help it.

Fallyn stopped on the first step and stood eye to eye with him. “What’s funny? Certainly not you confiscating my phone.”

“Certainly not. I was thinking about the insane hair you’re sporting and”—he waggled a finger at her—“the mean look in your eye, and I must be nuts because—guess what, babe?—it’s off-the-charts hot. I mean, how sick is that?”

She kissed him. Just bam, an immediate assault that included use of her tongue darting into his mouth and poking at his.
Damned hot.
Fallyn, no matter what, threw herself into a situation. Every time. No matter what.

This kiss? This lip scorching, soul-shattering monster that got him so hard he might explode, was no exception. He pulled her in, clamped his hands over her ass and gave her as good as he got while she and her tongue rocked his world.

Oh-kay! Good way to start off, considering he’d just insulted her. A good twenty seconds in, she ground her hips against him and—holy shit—they’d light this place up.

Afraid he’d humiliate himself and erupt on the steps, he backed away from the kiss, dropped little pecks along her jaw and moved to her ear. “I guess you’re not mad at me.”

“Keep that up and I won’t be.”

Oh, he’d keep it up. But they had business to tend to before he did. “Not to kill the mood, but we need to talk about the schedule today. How do you feel about birthdays? My mother’s specifically.”

She stiffened and—whoopsie—not a good sign. Yeah, he’d killed the mood. He faced her again, let go of her ass and set his hands on her shoulders in case she tried any diversionary tactics. Like running up the stairs screaming.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “My mom’s party is today. I have to go.”

“Yes, you do. I’d be upset if you didn’t.”

“And Grey and Monroe aren’t…available.”

“To babysit me.”

“We’re not babysitting you. We’re helping. Big difference. So, I was thinking, while we wait on the reports from the medications and whatever that thumb drive was, we pop in at my mom’s party. Eat some good food and cake and chill for a couple of hours.”

“You want me to meet your mother.”

So, okay. Already she was freaking out. “Sure. Why not? But, I can see your wheels spinning and let’s not get crazy here. If you want, I’ll tell them I’m working your security and didn’t want to leave you alone. Personally, I don’t care what they know about us.” He leaned in, tugged on the ends of her hair and his knuckles skimmed the rise of her breast. “I’ll tell the world. That’s how crazy I am about you.”

Something in her eyes flashed—heat mixed with a lightness he hadn’t seen much of since he’d met her. He’d seen it the other night though. Right when he pushed inside her.

She slid her hands up his arms and the feel of her, the warmth of her skin against his mixed with his wicked thoughts, made his blood race.

“You’re crazy about me?”

“I sure am. Thought I proved that with all the body slamming the other night. In fact, you’re lucky I let you get any sleep at all last night.”

“Mmm. I see. Well, you know, since we have this party to go to, I’ll need to get showered. Maybe put something nice on.” She stopped that slow slide of her hands and let them rest on his biceps. “I’m feeling pretty grimy right now. I mean, really,” she moved closer, “really, dirty.”

Damn, he loved this woman. Intense one minute, playful the next. Just like him.

“Un-huh,” he said. “You’ll definitely need a shower then.”

“A long one.
Hot
one.”

Man, oh, man, he was so doing her before his mother’s party. And if his translation skills were still intact, it sounded like it might happen in the shower.

“I’ll…uh…need a shower too, you know.”

“We should save time. And water. Is that what you’re saying? Shower together? There are efficiencies there.”

At that he laughed. A good laugh. A laugh that, before Fallyn, he hadn’t had in weeks. She made him…happy. There. Admitted it to himself. Sure he was a fuckup sometimes, but somehow, crazy Fallyn Pasche made him happy.

“I’m all for efficiencies.” He spun her around, smacked her on the ass. “Now get upstairs, woman and let me make you scream.”

Chapter Seventeen

Fallyn had new shoes. Sure they were from a local box store and had cost all of fifteen bucks, but hey, a new pair of heels could do wonders for your outlook, regardless of the lack of a designer name.

Tony drove. The tangle of DC streets gave way to the interstate. A few miles past that, suburbia. His eyes kept cutting over to her feet.