Redeeming Justice Page 31

  “You look better today, mo stoirín, Meghan heard her mother say as she gingerly folded onto the wood bench behind the rustic old table that gave their family breakfast nook a charming Irish pub vibe.

  Pfft. She might look better but she still felt like shit.

  “Where is everybody?” Meghan asked.

  Pushing a plate of shortbread scones across the table and nodding at her to eat something, Ma scurried to the Keurig and went about making an aromatic mug of Meghan’s favorite coffee blend.

  “Da is down at the station but he’ll be back soon. He’s been worried about you, daughter. Learning about his baby girl and her Latin gigolo was one thing. Watching while you slowly fade to nothing, only to end up sick and miserable, well – it’s expecting too much of him I’m afraid. He’ll be wanting a word with you when he gets home today.”

  Dun dun, dun. In her head she heard the mocking trill of the tone crime shows used at dramatic moments. Anxious to push past the bout of nerves her mother’s pronouncement fired up, Meghan wrinkled her nose and forgot her manners all in the same second.

  “For the sake of St. Patrick himself, will you all please stop with the snappy slurs. Lawrence of Arabia, Desert Rat, Zorro, and now gigolo. C’mon. Give it a rest,” she grumped, taking a vicious bite of a scone that sent crumbs cascading down her front.

  What she got in return for her moment of churlishness was Maggie O’Brien’s raised eyebrow and an exaggerated tut that made her feel like a naughty child. Manners were everything in an Irish household. Speaking irreverently to her parent in such a tone would have earned her a lengthy time out as a youngster and possibly even a good spanking.

  When her thoughts did a frantic one-eighty and an erotic spanking tableau starring her ass in a sexy purple thong and Alex’s big hand fired up in her head, Meghan blushed furiously and tried to look anywhere but at her mother. It took a mountain of effort not to roll her eyes at how easily her mind went into the naughty fuckery zone.

  “Darling, I’ve been thinking,” her mother said as she sat across the table and snagged a scone. “Maybe what we need is some retail therapy for what ails you.”

  “I don’t think shopping is going to make me feel any better, Ma.”

  Her mother smiled and wrinkled her nose playfully. “It’s always been my opinion that some well thought out lingerie and the proper dress can make or break certain situations.”

  Meghan almost choked to death on the scone. Had her mother always been such a vamp or was she just now sharing this side of her self now that she knew her daughter was in love?

  Ignoring her daughter’s cough or the way she guzzled the coffee to manage the choking fit, her ma kept on talking as if nothing were amiss.

  “This calls for something white, I think. Despite being sick you still have a nice golden glow from your time in the southwest sun. You always did look angelic in white Meggie. And it’ll make your beautiful hair really stand out. And of course there’s nothing like white or blush silk undies.” Her mother’s beaming smile was disconcerting.

  Meghan thought of her Major’s preference for sexy lingerie and swallowed hard. It was Thursday dammit, and she still hadn’t heard from him. Her nerves were rocky enough from having been sick but worrying that he wouldn’t contact her was making things worse. Maybe doing as her mother suggested and indulging in a new outfit that she could employ to knock his socks off was a good diversion and a bit of positive thinking.

  “I think you may be on to something, Ma,” Meghan murmured. “Wanna go to one of those flashy new Southie boutiques and set my credit card on fire?”

  “What’s this I hear about fires and credit cards?” boomed a deep voice with a distinct Irish brogue.

  “Patrick,” her mother purred in that special way she did whenever she addressed her husband. While it had always been there for her to see, Meghan was just this second opening her eyes to the deeper relationship between her unflappable and ladylike mother and handsome, spirited father.

  Rising from the table, Maggie O’Brien hurried to her husband’s side and welcomed him with a kiss. And not some quick peck on the cheek either. This was something Meghan and her siblings were used to. Her parents were a deeply affectionate couple. But seeing them now, arms wrapped around each other for a sweet embrace and a lingering kiss, Meghan couldn’t have loved them anymore if she tried. They’d been the best example a little girl could have ever hoped for when it came to imagining what true love looked like.

  Meghan saw from the corner of her eye how her dad helped himself to a good handful of her mother’s backside just before he turned to fix her with a shrewd and assessing gaze.

  “You look better Meggie,” he said. Lowering onto the bench next to her, he leaned in for a father daughter smooch then grabbed onto her hand. “How’re you feeling baby girl?”

  Meghan smiled into her father’s kind eyes. Patrick O’Brien was her hero. She couldn’t imagine a better father. Only she had the ability to wheedle her way around his sometimes gruff exterior with ease, but she supposed that would be true of most fathers where their little girls were concerned. Her only Daddy issues were that she knew what it was like to be loved unconditionally.

  Suddenly she recalled how as a young girl playing make believe with her dolls and with romance and weddings filling her foolish head she’d dreamed of finding a boy who would be the equal to her handsome, charming father. Only such a person would deserve her love.

  It didn’t take but a split second to slot her hunky Major into that role. They were both good men. Loyal, hard-working, intense. Her parents made a fetching couple. Maggie’s green eyes, Marilyn Monroe curves and wicked laugh blended well with her dad’s dashing good looks complete with a set of dimples that softened his otherwise serious expression plus he had the brawny build of a seasoned police officer. None of that description was all that dissimilar to how she and Alex must appear. The thought rattled her cage a tiny bit.

  “Cat got your tongue?” he teased when Meghan didn’t answer straight away.

  She blushed and shook her head. “Sorry Dad. I was just thinking about how much I love you guys. And to answer your question, yes, I do feel better. Nothing like one of Ma’s wicked scones and a trough of coffee to bring a person back from the dead.”

  “I’m glad you’re back to your old self,” he chuckled. “I hear you threatened the unholy trinity with dire consequences if they fucked with your mysterious boyfriend. Where’d you get such a naughty mouth I wonder, hmm?”

  “Oh gee, Da. Let me think a moment.” Meghan giggled because it was well known that her dad had a black belt in swearing.

  “Well, be that as it may, your mother tells me that you’ve gone and fallen for this man but that he pretty much needs a serious talking to where you’re concerned. Is that true?”

  Was it true? Her mother had been right when she said that her overprotective family came along in the deal and that whoever earned her heart was going to have to accept that. She tried to imagine a conversation between Paddy O’Brien and Alex Marquez. They’d probably argue over their tastes in whiskey but beside that they were fairly well-matched.

  Scooting closer to lay her head on her father’s comforting shoulder, Meghan sighed. “Oh, Da. I don’t know if a talking to will help much.”

  A long moment of silence passed that she was sure had her parents sharing meaningful looks back and forth.

  Drawing her into a mighty hug, her father’s love and strength felt like the best balm of all.

  “I think what you need Meggie girl is a neighborhood stroll with your dad. We’ll walk and talk like we did when you were a little girl. How’s that sound?”

  Walk and talk with her dad. Just the two of them. God, could he be any more perfect?

  “Let me get dressed, okay?”

  And so off they went, father and daughter, making the rounds through the south Boston neighborhood where Meghan grew up. They walked and talked for a long time with her dad asking the occasional question while sh
e rambled on endlessly about her trip to Arizona and the man who was turning her life upside down.

  She told her dad everything she could about the compound and the numbers of Veterans the agency helped. With an overabundance of enthusiasm she went on and on about the interesting cast of characters who comprised Family Justice and giggled like a schoolgirl about her horseback riding lessons and how she’d even tried her hand a time or two at target shooting. It felt good to let all of it out.

  At her dad’s insistence they stopped at an old-time ice cream parlor near their home, taking a seat at an outdoor table where they could people watch and continue their conversation. It was just about the best way she could imagine to spend an afternoon.

  “Still a vanilla girl, I see,” her dad chuckled as he watched her inhale a huge dish of plain ice cream. “You never were one for all the extras although I remember a time when Finn tried his damnedest to convince you that mint chocolate chip dripping with syrup would make you smarter.”

  “Once an idiot, always an idiot,” Meghan snarked between mouthfuls of the cold, creamy treat. “Remember the time he played ‘close your eyes and open your mouth’ and I was dumb enough to do what he said?”

  Her dad barked a laugh, his eyes twinkling with merriment. “You screamed and cried like the world was ending when he stuck a fluffy dandelion cluster on your tongue.”

  “Shithead,” she mumbled. Arching an eyebrow and trying to look like she meant business, Meghan’s sardonic side appeared. “Fool me once, you know?”

  Patrick O’Brien took a long time licking a spoonful of ice cream before he reacted to her words.

  “I certainly hope you learned to be more discriminating about what you put on that sharp tongue of yours and to not be so eager to do as told.”

  The comment, rich with innuendo, made her all but choke on the ice cream.

  “Aw, come on. Really? What is it with you and Ma these days? She’s talking to me about sex toys and you’re …well, jeez Da. I don’t even know how to decipher what you just said.”

  He laughed at her reaction and waggled his brows. “Your ma was going on and on about those damn Kegel Balls, I’m guessing. You have Aunt Heather to thank for that.”

  Meghan groaned and pretended to smack her head on the table. “You guys are killing me.”

  And with that, the kidding around came to an end and her father got serious as a heart attack.

  “Meggie, darling, you’ve always been in charge of yourself, a trait that has served you well as you’ve grown into an amazing woman. Your mother and I couldn’t be more proud. The way you’ve handled everything – David dying, going after a career, even how you dealt with all that lottery money. You’re a credit to the O’Brien name.”

  Putting her spoon down, she offered her dad a watery smile edged with the tears his praise summoned. “Thanks, Dad. It means a lot to hear that from you.”

  “I hope you know what you’re doing,” he added a moment later when he sat back and stared at her. “The way you talk about your time in the southwest is pretty telling baby girl. Why don’t we stop dancing around what’s not being said and get down to business?”

  Here it comes, she thought. The parental lecture. There was no way her dad, with his protective instincts, was going to sit idly by while a man he didn’t know and had never even met turned his daughter’s world inside out.

  Prepared for some heavy words of wisdom she was completely shocked when he started talking but didn’t come close to saying what she expected.

  “It’s clear from everything you’ve told me that this Major of yours is quite a guy. So why in the hell are you sleeping in your childhood bedroom and making yourself all kinds of sick while this paragon of virtue sits alone a couple of thousand miles away? If he’s what you want Meggie, it’s up to you to do something about the distance.”

  She hoped her face wouldn’t freeze forever with the look of absolute wonder and dumbfounded surprise she felt. Was her dad basically telling her to buck the hell up and go claim the man who had sent her away? How exactly does one do that, she wondered.

  “Let me tell you something about love, daughter. It’s rarely easy, always a challenge, and sometimes messy as hell. I hear what you’ve said about why you left. Survivor’s guilt is a heavy burden. The fact that your Major feels it so deeply makes me like him even more. It means he has a moral center. What more could a parent hope for when it comes to the man who steals a daughter’s heart?”

  “Oh, Da,” Meghan murmured.

  “Straight up baby girl. Don’t listen to any of the romantic crap your ma is dishing out these days – especially if her advice was to stand your ground and make him come to you. From a male viewpoint, that’s asking for trouble. Men rarely if ever see the forest for the trees where a woman is concerned.”

  “What are you saying, Dad?”

  Her father gave her a look of such love and caring that Meghan almost burst out crying.

  “I’m not saying you should jump on a plane and fly halfway across the damn continent but maybe a simple phone call would be a good idea. No communication is the devil’s handiwork, Meggie. You’ll never know if you don’t at least try.”

  Biting her lip, she looked away and tried to wrap her mind around what he was saying. Her gaze returned to his when he reached across the small table and took her hands in his.

  “Tell me what you’re thinking, child. Maybe I can help.”

  “He’s not in Arizona, Dad,” she blurted out, eager to tell her father everything.

  “Where is he then?” he asked gently. She wondered if he could sense her conflict.

  “Well….uh. Actually he’s here. On the East Coast. Down in D.C. to be exact.”

  She watched, fascinated, as her big, handsome father tried to stifle what looked like an impending laugh. “He’s followed you here, then?”

  Shrugging, Meghan held on tighter to her father’s hand. “I don’t know, did he?”

  “What’s your heart tell you Meggie girl?”

  Ever since Tori’s phone call when she let her know that Alex was travelling east, Meghan had been clinging to the hope that this was his way of inching closer.

  Her father must have read her thoughts because he squeezed her hands before letting go and sitting back.

  “I get to say this because as a male of the species I know with certainty that when it comes to the women we love, men in general are mad clueless, my daughter. If I’m not mistaken, he’s trying to bridge the gulf between you two and probably doesn’t know what to do next. I’d say being in Washington was his way of getting the ball rolling. Maybe the next step is up to you.”

  “Fucking hate that there’s never anything on TV,” Alex grumbled to an empty hotel room.

  Furiously clicking through the channels at a rapid clip, he searched for something, anything, to take his mind off the ugly mess he’d made of his life.

  He’d been in D.C. for almost a full week, on a fool’s errand to repair his relationship with Meghan. But after a failed phone call and a nonsensical voicemail message he was no further along to meeting that goal than he was while at home in the desert. She hadn’t picked up his call or responded to his message, not that he’d had the fucking sense to ask for a callback. In short, after a week of bullshit he was no closer to finding a solution.

  By some miracle he’d managed to get through the security symposium without either wrecking his or the agency’s reputation and hadn’t done anything so stupid that it couldn’t be fixed later. Thank God there was just one more session the next morning and then he was free. But free to do what exactly he still didn’t know.

  Settling on the mindless diversion of a shopping channel, he sprawled across the stiff, uncomfortable sofa in his room and brooded. Just as his thoughts started veering into self-pity mode, three rapid knocks sounded at his door.

  Had he called for room service? Shit. He didn’t know. This whole situation was fucking with his head so bad that he couldn’t remember what he was do
ing between one moment and the next.

  Bitchy and miserable, he went to answer just barely remembering to make sure he had clothes on before yanking the hotel room door open. Not that he cared one way or the other but it wouldn’t do for the Justice CEO to cause a scene in front of hotel staff with some naked fuckery that would only embarrass the agency.

  Just as his hand connected with the door knob he heard a low, ominous voice bark, “Alex Marquez. FBI. Open the door.”

  What the fuck? Jesus Christ. Just what he didn’t need.

  Jaw clenched, he opened the door with a curious expression plastered on his face, expecting to see vested agents with guns drawn on the other side only to find Draegyn and Cameron standing in the empty hallway literally hanging on to each other in a fit of silent laughing. Motherfuckers.

  “Oh man!” Cam hooted. “Wish you could see your face.”

  Drae was howling with delight and slapping Cam on the back as if they’d just pulled off the best prank ever.

  “Fuck,” Drae muttered. “You’re right Cam. I shoulda been ready with my phone to snap a picture. Put it up on the agency web site as a ‘caption this’.”

  “What the hell is wrong with you two?” Alex bellowed as he stepped aside to let them in. He might not appreciate the joke but he sure was glad to see them.

  Immediately taking over his space like unwanted college roommates, Drae pointed to the TV and snickered.

  “What up Dad? You thinking about buying a set of hand-painted stemware?” he mocked. “I like the ones with the birds.” Motioning to Cam he said, “Get over here bro and take a look. What do you think? The birds or the flowers?”

  “Whatever pussy boy wants is good by me,” Cam tossed out in a tone that sounded a lot like ‘wah wah wah’.

  Grabbing the remote control, Alex quickly turned the set off and tossed the clicker aside. “Shut the fuck up and tell me what you two are doing here.”

  “Wow,” Cam taunted. “You really are a mess. Shut the fuck up and a question all in the same sentence? Which shall it be? The shut up part or the what the hell are we doing here part?”