I Am Justice (Black Ops Confidential 1)

Justice grimaced. “Sometimes pain makes you feel that way too—limited.”

He brought her hand to his lips and kissed it. She meant her own pain over Tony’s death. And her father’s. The further they got from the shock of it, the more she was able to talk about it. He liked that she trusted him with her memories of her brother, her regrets, and how his death had changed her. Changed the whole family.

She asked questions too. She didn’t remember a lot about their escape from Mexico. Shock and grief could do that to a person. He had to admit, for a long time, everything had felt unreal to him too.

The escape from the compound had been rushed. And awful. Justice rocking, sobbing over Tony’s body. Then Gracie had returned, taken in the scene, and had totally lost it. Her screams…

Crap. It had been all he and Dusty could do to organize them and carry out Victor, who’d been passed out.

Dusty had turned out to be a good man. He’d stayed behind to take care of Tony’s body. Since then, Justice occasionally asked questions about how they’d escaped, questions that let him know she remembered very little. But she never asked where Tony was buried. It was like she didn’t want to know.

Not that he could’ve told her. He had no idea what had happened to the body. Or Dusty, for that matter. He strongly suspected the guy had gone underground.

“Sandy!” His mother’s voice whooped through the hallway.

Justice pulled her hand away. Made sense. Best not to confuse Mom with their relationship until they got a feel for how she’d react. In truth, he’d forgotten he’d been holding it.

Sandesh grinned as his mother shuffled down the hall with a fist full of balloons bobbing above her head. In one hand she clutched the string. In her other she held a stuffed teddy bear.

He bent and greeted his mother’s frail body with a gentle hug. “You look great, Ella.”

She kissed his cheek. “Did you see my balloons?”

“I did.” He stepped back. “Did you see my friend?”

Ella let out a delighted squeal, tossed up her hands. The balloons flew into the air. Justice grabbed the string and brought them down with a flourish.

His mother clapped and Justice handed the balloons back to her.

His mother yanked the string away. “The balloons are mine.” Justice nodded her understanding and Ella’s face became sly, almost predatory. “So is that young man. So treat him right.”

Sandesh moved to intercept the awkward, to guide the conversation, but Justice cut him off. “I will, Ella. In fact, I’m taking him to a family dinner tonight. As my date.”

His mother smiled. “He’s very handsome, isn’t he?”

Justice gently kissed her cheek. “Yes.”

His mother, his mother who had been lost to him off and on for five years, flushed. Her eyes grew slightly more aware. “What’s your name, dear?”

“Justice Ramona Parish.”

She nodded. “Justice Ramona Parish.” She repeated it as if chewing on it, tasting it, savoring it. “See, Sandesh? I always told you there was Justice in the world.”

Sandesh’s eyebrows shot up his forehead and he laughed—hard. She had. Repeatedly.

Justice reached out and hugged his mother, laughing softly. His mother laughed along with her. And the two of them…

He had to tell his heart to settle. And then tell it twice more.

Didn’t work. How had this happened?

How had a gun-wielding assassin, a smart-ass vigilante with a nose for trouble and a yearning for intrigue, captured his heart so completely?

Maybe that’s just the way blessings worked. Mysteriously.

Chapter 77

“She’ll give in,” Justice reassured her scorching-hot and somehow doubtful fiancé as they strolled hand in hand through the Mantua Home’s wide, sunlit corridors. “It’s a wedding present.”

“China is a wedding present. A toaster oven is a wedding present. Hell, a wedding is a wedding present. You’re asking for her to allow you to return to Jordan. With me. For the IPT. Something that could lead to a deeper investigation of your ties to that mission in Syria.”

She smiled, kept pace with him as they walked. “Yeah, you people at the IPT are trouble.”

“I’m serious, Justice. Why draw more attention to your time there? The feds are already suspicious.”

Understatement. But they were the suspicious sort. And, sadly, not stupid. Kept asking after Tony. The party line was that he’d simply run away, disappeared.

A big coincidence that Sandesh had also been released by his captors. All of this was why Leland wanted them to stay away from Jordan and Syria until things quieted down.

It felt wrong. “I don’t need dishes or a toaster oven, not even a wedding. I need to fix the things I’ve screwed up.” She cringed, thought of Tony, thought of how she couldn’t fix everything. She looked up at Sandesh, at all his blond, beautiful self. “As much as I can.”

He started to say something, maybe about how she hadn’t screwed things up, how everything had worked out, how he didn’t hold her responsible—all of it, but he simply nodded. And that, right there, was another reason to love him.

Every day added one more reason.

She pulled up short before the wide, arched doorway leading into the library.

Inside the brightly lit room, Romeo sat at one of the long tables in front of a computer, typing like a lunatic. Maybe feeling her eyes on him, he glanced up. Such a cute kid.

She smiled at him. “You available to train tomorrow, around noon?”

He turned left and right in a Who me? kind of way. No one else in the library, kid. Registering this, his lips twitched into an uncertain smile. He gave her a tight nod.

Yeah. Couldn’t blame him. She turned away, met Sandesh’s alert, blue eyes. He bent and rubbed his nose against her cheek. “It’s a start.”

He was right. She’d continue to reach out to Romeo, make sure he was okay, find a way to talk to him, so that he knew—no, so that he felt he was respected here.

She’d read Tony’s letter. Finally. He’d spoken of his pain, never feeling accepted, never feeling good enough, listened to, cared about. Reading it had changed her as much as losing him had. Things here had been unfair to him and to Romeo.

Sandesh squeezed her hand. “You okay?”

The flip thing to say would be, “Yeah.” But it wasn’t the real thing to say. She swallowed the regret and sorrow. “I’m going to make it up to Tony. He might not be here to see it, but I’m going to. And you and Salma and the IPT. Got it?”

“Yeah. But if your mother says no—”

She shook her head, continued down the hall. He kept up. “She won’t. Trust me. I ca

n convince anyone of anything. I am a kick-ass public relations specialist. Remember?”

Sandesh snorted, bit his lip, and nodded at her, nodded like he wanted to say something else. He didn’t.

Smart man.

They moved down the hallway, passing an intersecting hallway, the one with the elevators. Someone called out, “I see it worked.”

Justice startled. Dada. So stealthy. And gorgeous, especially with a baby bump. Wait. “What worked?”

The elevator doors opened and Bridget stepped out. She took in the scene with a raised eyebrow. Dada pointed at Justice’s wrist, at the braided band of light and dark leather with the garnet woven within it. “Look. It worked.”

Bridget smiled at Sandesh. “She said yes?”

He nodded, not looking half as guilty as he should have. “I appreciate the suggestions from both of you.”

Seriously? She should’ve recognized Dada was in on the whole weaving bracelets thing. “So, what, is this some kind of conspiracy proposal?”

Bridget flushed; she actually looked bothered. That didn’t happen every day. Or ever. Huh. She felt guilty. Looks like letting her keep her memory had another upside.

Dada moved closer, lifted Sandesh’s hand to examine his band. Ugh. Justice cringed. She’d made his. He’d made hers. His band was more roughly woven than hers. By far. Who knew arts and crafts were so fucking hard?

“I can show you how to fix this,” Dada said, looking at Justice.

Justice glared under a heating face. Not like she cared. Okay. She did.

Sandesh pulled his hand away. “No. It’s perfect. Thanks.”

Aw. Love for him, sharp and steady, fired another neuron, stored another cherished memory.

Dada looked like she was about to argue the fact, but Justice interrupted with, “Just saw your baby daddy in the gym, surrounded by munchkins playing soccer. You might want to rescue him,” then turned and led Sandesh down the hall to the open doorway on their left.

His warm hand loosely held in her own, she slipped into the drawing room. The drawing room. Momma’s idea of a joke. It was literally a room for drawing—more accurately, painting—not the traditional drawing room for greeting guests. Hardy. Har. Har.