Desert Angel (Family Justice Book 2)
DESERT ANGEL—A Family Justice Novel
Copyright © 2015 by Suzanne Halliday
This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only
All Rights Reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by an means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system without the written permission of the author, except where permitted by law.
This book is meant for mature readers who are 18+. It contains explicit language, and graphic sexual content.
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Table of Contents
Title Page
Copyright
Dedication
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Chapter Thirty
Chapter Thirty-One
Chapter Thirty-Two
Chapter Thirty-Three
Chapter Thirty-Four
Chapter Thirty-Five
Chapter Thirty-Six
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Chapter Thirty-Eight
Chapter Thirty-Nine
Chapter Forty
Chapter Forty-One
Chapter Forty-Two
Chapter Forty-Three
Chapter Forty-Four
Chapter Forty-Five
Chapter Forty-Six
Chapter Forty-Seven
Chapter Forty-Eight
Chapter Forty-Nine
Chapter Fifty
Chapter Fifty-One
Chapter Fifty-Two
Chapter Fifty-Three
Chapter Fifty-Four
Chapter Fifty-Five
Chapter Fifty-Six
Chapter Fifty-Seven
Chapter Fifty-Eight
Chapter Fifty-Nine
Chapter Sixty
Chapter Sixty-One
Chapter Sixty-Two
Chapter Sixty-Three
Chapter Sixty-Four
Chapter Sixty-Five
Epilogue
Other Books by Suzanne Halliday
Acknowledgments
About the Author
This book is dedicated to every reader who enthusiastically embraced Family Justice.
Every word herein is written with love and a heart full of gratitude.
I never dreamed with Cameron’s story, when those complex, endearing Justice Brothers were first introduced, how exhilarating and challenging this ride would be.
From the bottom of my heart, I want to thank you for loving these characters as much as I do.
Suzanne Halliday
“YOU’RE ABOUT THE ONLY PERSON I know who can turn a simple steak dinner into a nonstop—and very boring—comedy routine. Can you stop with the moo-ing? Please?”
“Why the hell should I when I know it annoys the shit out of you? Someday that eye-rolling head shake of yours is going to freeze in mid-motion and then, dude, I’ll be the one laughing!”
Alex couldn’t help it. He rolled his eyes, shook his head, and added some smirking side shade at the end for shits ‘n’ grins. It was always like this when he and Parker Sullivan got together. More than just the oldest of friends, they’d known each other far too long for superficial bullshit.
And, as his sexy-as-fuck Irish goddess, the one he was blissfully engaged to, would say, this was the sit down and be serious portion of the program.
Thinking about Meghan, Alex shifted uneasily in his seat. Something was up with her but figuring out what was as elusive as stumbling upon a leprechaun. In the desert.
Their meal was cleared away, and the two friends were enjoying a glass of Port before falling face first into their dessert. Parker chose a slice of creamy cheesecake that was the size of his fat head and would come out on a platter instead of a plate, drizzled with a local favorite . . . saguaro syrup. The man had an insatiable sweet tooth.
“So,” Parker drawled in that laid-back way he was so good at. “Ready to let me in on what this get-together was really all about?”
After refilling his glass from the hoggett decanter to his left, Alex passed it along to Parker. The unusual Port ritual had always been a part of their shared history. He blamed his family’s wine-making heritage and the Sullivan’s close relationship to the Valleja-Marquez clan.
“How ‘bout we make a toast first?”
Parker did that other thing he did so well—blank stare Alex with a crooked smirk. Jeez. Some things never change.
“You mean like—Here’s to our women and horses—may both be ridden hard and put away wet.”
Cue the eye roll. Alex tried not to snicker, but it was no use. Running his fingers through his hair and not caring that with that one movement, he’d made a mess of it, Alex muttered, “Man, you are fucking hopeless,” while his friend grunted his agreement.
“Pfft, just coming to that conclusion now? You really are one dumb motherfucker, Marquez.”
Holding his glass slightly aloft, Alex enjoyed the clear tawny color of the exceptional wine for a brief moment and then tipped his glass in a toast.
“To friendship. The ones that last.”
“Hear, hear,” Parker concurred. “And may I add that I’m damn glad we both made it.”
They sipped their Port in companionable silence, Alex organizing his thoughts and Parker waiting him out. In that regard, his friend had an edge. Patiently waiting, letting the silence build . . . wasn’t that a lawyer requirement?
Across from them, an older couple appeared to really enjoy their dinner. Alex noticed them right away. They were hard to miss. Instead of sitting across from each other, the elderly man with the distinguished air sat close to his beautiful gray-haired companion while the woman beamed.
He liked the way their heads moved close when they whispered to each other and how the woman’s shoulders shook when she laughed.
To say he’d been shocked when the old man’s hand drifted to the leg of his companion was an understatement. When he spied the old codger slowly pulling his lady’s dress up and slide his hand beneath, Alex nearly choked on his food.
God. He hoped that he and Meghan were like that fifty years from now. Still with the naughty talk and forever with his hand doing things in public that made her blush. But he had to stop daydreaming and remember why they were there.
“Look,” he finally said, leaning forward, elbows resting on the table as he toyed with his glass. “There’s something I want to talk to you about.”
“You’re not going to start whining about that fucking prenup again are you? ‘Cause I’ll tell you what, buddy—we may be the oldest of friends and all, but putting my neck on the line with your woman is asking too much. She scares the piss out of me when she gets going.” Parker chuckled.
&n
bsp; “Jesus! When did you become such a pussy? Isn’t putting it all out there what you badass lawyer types get paid to do?”
“Tell me something,” Parker countered with an evil sneer. “When was the last time you didn’t fold immediately when Meghan made that face at you? And don’t play stupid, man. You know what face I’m talking about.”
“You mean the one that sends my balls running for cover?”
They laughed quietly, each smirking at the other. Women. The great equalizers.
“Actually, I want to talk to you about the wedding.”
“Ah! The royal event? Big church, white dress, Uncle Eddie doing the sacred anointing thing? Is that what you dragged me here for?”
Alex groaned at the description. But he left out the horse-drawn carriage, fifty-two gun salute, and the Irish flash mob doing Celtic dances along the avenue. Shuddering at his fanciful thoughts, he silently prayed that he’d just made all that shit up. Maybe it was time to start paying attention to the planning.
“Yeah, that wedding. And nobody dragged you anywhere, you cheap son-of-a-bitch. Promise of a free meal and you’d be anybody’s friend.”
“Suck my dick,” Parker taunted as he knocked back the end of his Port.
“Not even negotiable.”
The waiter appeared with Parker’s ginormous slab of cheesecake and Alex’s bowl of ice cream. He liked cakes and treats as much as the next guy—but ice cream? Fuck. He dreamed about the stuff.
Sweating his balls off in an unforgiving and inhospitable country where he had to spit sand out of his mouth each night, his fantasies about vats of the ice-cold treat were a regular occurrence. To this day, he never passed up an opportunity to indulge. In fact, Alex treated a bowl of good ice cream like a lover. Savoring every lick, he took his good ol’ time with each spoonful, even moaning when the cold sweet cream melted in his mouth.
Parker sat with his knife in one hand, the fork in the other, resting upright in his grip. He looked like a caveman using utensils for the first time. Never failed to get a laugh. But it was the ridiculous and very exaggerated Cookie Monster voice that easily cracked Alex up.
“Me like cheesecake! Listen,” he chortled, leaning his ear toward the dessert. “It say eat me! And eat begin with E and me begin with M . . . as in Mmmmm.”
That shit would never get old.
They said nothing for a couple of bites before Alex went back to their conversation.
“So, here’s the thing, fuckface,” he said taking a deep breath. “There’s some tradition that says the groom needs a best man. Bunch of bullshit about having a second, in case of cold feet.”
Parker made a strangled sound and quickly reached for his glass of water. After a quick recovery, he smirked and mumbled, “Holy shit.”
With the hint of a smile, Alex shook his head and sat back heavily.
“Crap. Like asking Meghan to marry me wasn’t enough. Now I have to grovel to your sorry ass as well.”
“Hold on! Hold on!” Parker wheezed with laughter. Putting his utensils down, he wiped his mouth on a napkin then reached across the table and took one of Alex’s hands.
Anyone watching would assume they were a fucking couple. He wanted to throttle the asshole.
Grinning broadly, Parker snickered. “Okay. That’s better. Now ask me and make it good, Marquez. It’s not every day a guy gets asked to be in a wedding.”
Alex’s eyes widened at the jest, which was said just loud enough for the two tables nearest them to hear. One of the female patrons looked at them and made that Oh, how romantic expression.
The fucker. Okay. Two could play that game.
Clearing his throat dramatically, Alex sandwiched Parker’s big paw between his hands and squeezed. Hard.
In a voice equally as loud and attention getting he said, “Parker Sullivan. Will you do me the great honor of coming with me to Boston and standing by my side at the marriage altar?”
It was a priceless fucking moment made even better because Alex knew damn well at least one cell phone camera had captured the proposal.
Parker burst out laughing, followed quickly by Alex who nearly fell over from the absurdity of the scene they were creating.
“This calls for champagne!”
“Why? Because I’m paying for it?” Alex drawled.
“You can afford it,” Parker said tsking. “And you knew I wasn’t a cheap date when you asked me out.”
Within minutes, they were toasting from a bottle of Perrier Jouët Nuit Blanché Rose. Two grown men sipping from a pink champagne bottle. This was why he put up with Parker all these years. The man had a unique sense of the comically absurd.
“So, is that a yes, dude?”
Half his glass of champagne was gone before Parker answered. “Of course, it’s a yes. On one condition.”
“There’s a condition? Are you fucking kidding me?” Alex groaned.
Cocking his head to one side, his old friend smirked. “I argue and make deals for a living. What the hell did you expect?”
Alex chuckled but fixed his companion with a searing look.
“Well, okay . . . but if the words droit du seigneur come out of your mouth, I’ll drop you where you sit.”
Parker inhaled another huge forkful of cheesecake and grinned at Alex like a mindless idiot. “God. I like having the upper hand with you. The possibilities are endless.”
Shaking his head, Alex raised an eyebrow. “Don’t flatter yourself, counselor. There are two more buttheads like you who can just as easily fit into a tuxedo.”
“Perhaps,” Parker laughed with a wink, “but I’d wager that a certain Boston Bombshell knows all about this little tête-à-tête and would have your balls if you fucked it up.”
Sliding a spoonful of vanilla ice cream into his mouth, Alex had to stifle a smile. She would, indeed. Putting the spoon down with an exaggerated sigh, he ran his fingers through his hair and smirked.
“Okay. What do I have to do? Beg? Get down on one knee? I’m sure the other diners would love that,” he said, looking around the room.
In a crisp, no-nonsense, I have your ass over a barrel tone, Parker laid out his terms.
Seriously, Alex thought. This is why I love this fucking guy. It had always been this way with them. Half cheesy, half poker-face with a large dollop of comedy thrown in for good measure.
“I will happily come to Boston and do my very best to cause as much mayhem as humanly possible if you agree to come out of retirement and get back in the saddle with Desert Thunder. Not all the time—I know you like to think you have an important job, as we all do, but at least once or twice a month.”
So . . . that was the deal? Play with a motley band of old heads? Sure. Why the fuck not? Meghan would get a kick out of it. And the truth was that he missed playing live. Missed the camaraderie that came with a bunch of grown-ups living out their rock ‘n’ roll fantasies in a booze-soaked honky tonk because, well—because they could.
Decision made, he stuck his hand out and declared, “Done!” in a firm voice.
“Hot damn,” Parker murmured. “A bloody steak, the best Port in town, cheesecake to die for, pink champagne, and the return of Thunder Foot. Winning, man!”
Alex blew out a breath and chuckled at Parker’s use of the band nickname he was known by. “Fucker.”
Making quick work of his softening ice cream, he was surprised when Parker commented, “Thought you’d ask one of those Justice fools you babysit. Or your uncle. All kidding aside, man. I’m honored.”
“Drae and Cam are in Dad One and Two mode. And Uncle Calder? Jesus. He’s got his head up his ass over Tori’s mom. Damn lovesick fool. I swear to Christ if he doesn’t make a move soon, I’m gonna throttle his sorry ass.”
“That bad, huh?”
“You have no idea,” he snickered. “Nothing worse than a grown man mooning over a woman.”
Alex felt the silent chill that descended upon their table at his offhand comment.
“Uh, I was wonderi
ng,” Parker asked with what Alex supposed the man thought was believable nonchalance. “Will, uh . . . I mean, will Angelina be in Boston?”
Angie. Alex’s little sister. The depth of her one-time adoration and hero worship for his friend was well known. It was more than strange that they were so distant from each other now.
Alex shrugged. “Will she be in Boston for the wedding? Of course, man.”
Watching that tidbit of information sink into Parker’s thick skull, he waited a few beats and added, “Matter of fact, she’s coming here. Soon.”
His old friend paused and glanced around the room for a few seconds at everyone and everything except Alex. Then, on a growl that came out sounding cautious, he asked, “Here? You mean, here here?”
“Yep. She’s coming to help Meghan with the wedding. It’s what she does, after all,” he added tactfully. “Plan events.”
Parker’s eyes clouded, and he glanced away. “Right.”
“Will be good for her,” Alex added in a rush. “Mom says she’s been a right royal pain in the ass since she ended her engagement.”
Hmmm. If he wasn’t mistaken, the mention of Angie’s on-the-way-to-the-altar farce made Parker turn positively white.
“I’m sure Meghan will be giving you a call when she gets here. Family dinner and all. Give Angie a chance to catch up with old . . . friends.”
“Oh, uh . . . yeah. Cool. Look, dude, I’m stuffed. Think we should call it a night?”
Wow. For quick turnarounds, this one was epic.
It sure did seem like Alex’s suspicions about his old friend and sister having at least flirted with a relationship were on target. Since it happened when he was a billion miles away trying to stay alive and get home in one piece, he didn’t have any hard facts—just a sixth sense. Parker’s shocked reaction to learning Angie was coming here now certainly got him thinking.
ANGELINA WAS COMING HERE? TO Arizona? What the fuck, man? He hadn’t seen that coming. He never dreamed her coming home was any sort of real possibility.
Gripping the steering wheel, Parker tried to focus on the road while his mind careened all over the place. Quickly touting up a hundred potential scenes made possible by Angie coming home, he cringed. Estranged as they were, none were comfortable and all involved an Armageddon-like potential he wasn’t happy about.