Redeeming Justice (45 page)

Making it worse was remembering that the moments when they awoke together in the sanctuary
of his enormous bed. Meghan loved the intimacy of it. Them sleeping together. Waking
up next to his solid presence, the heat rolling off his body. Sometimes she would
lay still and quiet, marking him with her eyes, taking in every exposed inch of flesh.
In the quiet stillness of the early morning those visual tributes felt sacred and
beautiful. He was magnificent, and he was hers.

The best part of all though was that moment when his eyes fluttered open, and he’d
turn his head to search for her. In that brief first glance when their eyes met she
would catch glimpses into the vulnerability he tried so carefully to control. Reliving
those flashes her soul cried out. How could he let her go? And not just let her go
– send her away with brutal backhanded snark.

Throwing off the covers she growled and struggled to sit up.
Fuck.
Feeling weak as a baby, hollow and empty, her head started to swim. She wanted to
cry. Just then her eyes fell on her cell phone. Didn’t surprise her in the least to
see she’d been sleeping with the damn thing clutched close. At this point it represented
the only lifeline she had left that could connect her to Alex.

Tapping on the screen with weak, trembling fingers she checked for emails, noted the
day and time then tossed it away. Wednesday. No email. If the information Tori had
texted was right, he’d been in D.C. since late Sunday.

Ugh
, she groaned, flinging back onto the pillow-topped mattress to stare wretchedly at
the ceiling. She was overwhelmed with awareness that he was nearby even if a couple
hundred miles away. It was like she could feel him. She had to hope it was her imagination
because if it wasn’t and she really and truly could connect to him like that she was
beyond fucked. There was just no way she’d survive.

“I’m not surprised to hear you couldn’t get through to her,” Tori said over the phone
when Alex broke down and called her Wednesday night. It was getting late on the East
Coast, the perfect time to catch his sister-in-law so he’d dialed her up and immediately
begun fretting to her about Meghan not taking his call.

Not surprised? Fuck. That wasn’t what he wanted to hear. Barking like an angry dog
he asked, “Why aren’t you surprised? Did she tell you she wouldn’t speak to me?” Alex
was suddenly filled with insecurity and fear.

“Oh, no Alex. No!” came her instant response. “You misunderstand. I just meant that
it was no surprise you didn’t get through because I also ended up hearing her lovely
outgoing voicemail message when I checked in earlier. It’s not just you she didn’t
answer for. I’m absolutely sure she’d take your call, Boss. Please calm down.”

That was just it. He couldn’t calm the fuck down to save his life. His inner turmoil
was like a ping pong ball – flying all over the place – back and forth, being relentlessly
pounded with unsettling thoughts.
Motherfucker.
He wanted Meghan. All this bullshit was driving him over the edge. He needed her
to stop the freefall he was in. Needed her sweet, giving heart and soft, lush curves
to break his fall. He’d had enough. He was going to go get what was his.

“I’m going to Boston, Tori. This is insane. Sitting here in Washington, hating every
minute of what I’m doing even if it is good for the agency and killing myself with
doubt about Meghan isn’t helping the situation. She either wants me or she doesn’t.”

The groan that came through the phone let him know he’d said that last part like an
arrogant prick.

“Alex,” she bit out in a tone clearly intended as a voice of adult authority that
would serve her well once she became a mother. “Let me take this moment to remind
you that ultimatums won’t work. She either wants you or she doesn’t? Are you high?”
she all but screeched. “You didn’t give a hot damn that she wanted you when you sent
her away like a nuisance fan girl you’d grown tired of. So fuck you Major. I suggest
you stand down and catch your breath before you make this worse.”

Alex started to crumble. Tori was right. He couldn’t just puff up his chest, snap
his fingers and demand Meghan submit to his he-man authority. Without thinking he
reached for his manhood, subliminally protecting his balls from her wrath should he
try such a bone-headed approach.

“Holy fuck, Mrs. St. John. Help me out here, lady. I just can’t…” He couldn’t even
finish the sentence. After a long silent hesitation he added, “Do this. I can’t do
this. It’s killing me.” He said that last part in a pained whisper.

Several long moments ticked by with Alex clutching the phone to his ear, eyes closed,
a sad, tormented expression glued to his face.

In a voice that sounded like it had been lifted from the grave he murmured, “I need
her, Tori. Nothing matters without her. Until she came along, I thought my whole world
would forever be defined by the past; believed I’d spend an entire lifetime doing
penance for things I had no control over. She gave me back the dream of a future.
Drae said he thought she was my salvation, that through Meghan I’d stumbled on the
most unexpected and unearned redemption ever imagined. I think he was right.” Groaning
as he grabbed at his chest to stop his heart from falling to pieces he said, “I won’t
make it without her.
Please.
Please tell me what to do.” He’d never felt as exposed or helpless as he did in that
moment.

He heard Tori sniff then clear her throat. Was she crying? “Tori?” he croaked. There
it was, that sniff again.
Fuck.

“You made it, Major,” she choked out after another heavier throat clearing. “You made
it to the other side of a huge leap of faith that took more courage and balls than
anything you did in that damn war. Admitting proves you’re the man we all know you
are. If that’s the way you feel and you are certain to the depth of your soul that
this woman belongs to you, then yes Alex. You go and get her. My only suggestion is
you get used to using the one word I still haven’t heard you say.”

“Love,” he croaked. “You want me to admit I love her.”

“No Big Daddy,” she chuckled. “It’s not me who needs you to admit it. I’m just saying
– bitches like romance.”

He smiled at the irreverent teasing in her tone. “Okay. Understood. Bitches like romance.
Got it.”

They laughed together for a few moments then Tori giggled and said, “My lord and master
is home so this call is over. You’ve got this now, Boss?” she asked

He chortled with a grin. “Probably not. I seem to keep fucking things up without even
trying but I feel better having talked with you. Thanks sis.”

“Get off the damn phone,” he heard Drae growl a second before a sharp sound and Tori’s
startled gasp shot through the phone.

“Uh, bye Al…” and then the phone went dead. He laughed and shook his head as a visual
of Drae smacking his wife’s butt before grabbing the phone from her and disconnecting
the call filled his head.

For the millionth time he thanked the universe for his Justice family. Tori and Drae
plus Cam and Lacey and the children each couple was bringing into the world would
enrich that family immeasurably. He desperately hoped before too long he’d be bringing
his Irish goddess into the fold.

He didn’t know it but back home in Arizona, after Drae had terminated their phone
call then subdued his feisty wife with an incendiary kiss, she had winked at him saucily
and said, “Pack your bag, Double-Oh-Sexy. Dad needs his boys so you and Cam will have
to go wheels up in short order. Time’s a-wasting and Alex on his own is a recipe for
guy-fuckery that only a team approach can manage.”

“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.