The Forgiven: The End Game Series (Book 5)

by Piper Westbrook

  Letting him do precisely that, Meg wore a blush on her cheeks as they eventually entered the main building.

  While Blanket’s renovations were no more dramatic than new doors and a fresh coat of paint, the town’s family-owned florist had undergone a transformation that included increased square footage, a second-story addition that held offices and a consultation room, and delivery vans that looked more like showroom SUVs that boasted the company logo.

  “Is Hector Fuentes around?” she asked the receptionist. “I’m his daughter, Meg.”

  “Oh, hello! You’re today’s top subject. He’s in the greenhouse. Go have a seat in the consult room, and I’ll page him.”

  When Hector arrived, he promptly reintroduced Meg to the hall and shut the door, leaving her blisteringly indignant as she paced and looked through the glass wall and tried pitifully to gauge their conversation.

  But she’d been privy to none of it. When Hector finally swaggered to the door and opened it, she stepped in and said, “¡Válgame Dios! Papá, if I didn’t miss you so much, I would be pissed that you did this. I’m not a little girl. You can’t grill my boyfriends.”

  “Remy’s a good man, mi hija,” Hector declared, deflating her fury. “Take him home to meet the family.”

  Meg hugged her father, staring over his shoulder at Remy. “What did you say?” she mouthed.

  Remy put his palms together and bowed his head as if to say, “I was a saint.”

  Yeah, a saint who’d performed oral on a woman before speaking with her father.

  When they reached Yellow Hawk Ranch, the sun was sitting low and the main house brimmed with people. Most of the family had arrived yesterday, so she and Remy were late arrivals. If that wasn’t enough to call too much attention to them, Meg’s cane picked up any slack. Relatives converged from every direction, pulling her into conversations that put her bilingual ability to good use.

  Somehow she and Remy got separated. The Yellow Hawk Ranch sat on several acres of open Texas land, the closest neighbor was over a mile away…but for the first time in days she felt at peace without needing to have him in her sight.

  “I still want to know what you said to Remy,” she warned Hector once he’d returned to a house all but vibrating with noise and music and life.

  “Sí, okay. We’ll talk in the garden, after I help you and Anita here.” He came to his wife, nuzzling her neck and murmuring something that might be romantic if Hector and Anita weren’t her parents.

  “Eh, cochino. No foreplay over the food,” someone ribbed.

  She and her mother ruled the rustic millionaire-meets-mountain-living kitchen, selecting lemons for what must be the third pitcher of fresh-made lemonade of the afternoon. Liquor was plentiful—and going fast—but there were more underage cousins than Meg had realized, and they were a thirsty, demanding lot.

  “Hurry up!” five-year-old Graciela shouted. “If I stay thirsty for too long, I get hiccups. When I get hiccups, I have to drink more to stop the hiccups. When I drink more, I pee in my jammies. When I pee in my jammies, Mommy gets mad.”

  “Gracie, vamanos,” Meg’s brother, Eduardo, said, swooping in to interrupt the onset of a preschool diva’s tantrum.

  He looked like a normal kid guilty of following trends—tattoos on his arm, which Anita had called her to commiserate over, and the sides of his head shaved low with the rest of his hair in a man-bun that might be kind of edgy hot to the girls around town.

  Only, Eddie was following a path that Meg found familiar. At seventeen, Eddie had his eye on law studies and his ambitions set on Quantico.

  “Gracias,” Meg said, waving them over. “But she reminds me of you at that age, Eddie. Impatient, petulant—”

  “What’s pech-u-ant mean?” Graciela asked.

  “Meg means to say you’re being a brat,” Anita explained, handing the girl a plastic cup. “Of course, who knows a brat better than a brat?”

  Meg scrunched her face. “How could you say I’m a brat? I was thinking I’m your favorite.”

  “You’re my favorite daughter.” Anita laughed at Meg’s “Hey!” Passing off her lemon-squeezing duties to her husband, she said, “Meg, your father said you’d called some time ago and asked for me. Is there something going on that I should know about?”

  “No, Mamá.” Lies. “I’m just here for family.”

  Over an hour had passed before she was able to slip away from the chaos and meet Hector in the garden, which was actually an eco-friendly greenhouse where he often spent time to reflect.

  Meg shut the door, and there was a weighty silence that seemed louder than the hum of the cooling system. “You worry about me too much, Papá.”

  “I can’t help it. I don’t care that you’re an adult and you’re smart and you work in law enforcement. None of that matters to me because you’re my daughter.”

  “Is the cane hard to look at?”

  “No, it’s the fear in your eyes. Tell me what’s scaring you.”

  She couldn’t. At some point she’d thought that she might be able to, but with so much family here—in the house, visiting the stables, playing rowdy card games in the carriage house—she didn’t want to wreck the reunion.

  For their sake, she swallowed her childish instinct to run to her parents, who’d slay her dragons then do everything to map out the rest of her life.

  She would show them she could take care of herself, even if she had to lie.

  “I’m not scared,” she told her father. “I’m just nervous that you and Mamá might mistreat my boyfriend.”

  “Remy. Has Anita taken a look at him?”

  “Beyond shaking his hand and telling him to eat plenty? No, and she won’t. When I was a teenager she promised she wouldn’t pry. My relationships are my business.”

  “She wants to protect you.”

  “Papá, I’ve heard this all before. Corpus Christi happened over twenty years ago, and I’ve been through a lot—with Remy.”

  “He cares about you. It’s what we talked about at the flower shop.”

  “I know.” But he doesn’t love me. “Can I ask you, how do you sleep in the same bed as Mamá and work with her and love her, knowing in your heart that there will always be secrets?”

  “Anita’s the love of my life.”

  “What about Eddie and me? Papá, I have to tell you…I passed the LSATs.”

  Hector ruffled his gray-streaked hair, crossed his arms and turned toward a row of cacti. “Yeah. You were too intelligent to fail, but too concerned about my ego to defy me. Why tell me now?”

  “To ask you how you can go on loving me when there are lies and secrets. Your daughter chose the FBI over the flower shop. Eddie’s speed-racing down that same road.”

  “Meg, I love my family. It’s as simple as that. As the head of this household, I can exercise certain power, but ultimately you have your own minds. Whatever I can’t control, I address in prayer. It’s all I can do.”

  A few taps on the greenhouse door preceded a woman with short blond waves and downturned blue eyes. “So you went away and came back the ultimate hottie.”

  “Honey!” Meg pushed her cane to its limit and it jabbed the ground ferociously as she hurried to her childhood bestie. She heard her father mutter something about avoiding girl gossip as he left the greenhouse. “Coraline said you were working today.”

  “At my studio, yes. But I make my own hours, so I’m here.” Honey squeezed her hand. “Let’s split.”

  “And go where? It’s dark now.”

  “All the sexy cowboys hit Dusty’s after dark.”

  “I’m not in the market. I have a man.”

  “Yay for you, darlin’. But I’m currently between men—and not in the good ménage way. For old times’ sake, come with. Go put on something that says ‘I live in Las Vegas so you better impress me.’”

  They were Meg and Honey, the naughty gals of June Creek, Texas, again. Meg didn’t pass up the chance
to rediscover this part of herself. At the main house she changed into a short pleated dress and her new boots and was taking the rear stairs when her brother caught her.

  “Sneaking out?”

  “Yes. Honey Sutherland’s waiting outside and we’re going to Dusty’s.”

  “What about your dude?”

  “Remy’s from our world, Eddie. I’m sure he can handle the family on his own.”

  His face changed. “Yeah. Birds of a feather work together.”

  “Ed—”

  “Screw it. Forget I said that. What lie do you want me give Mamá and Papá when they ask where you went?”

  “Don’t lie. Just wait ten minutes before you snitch. I don’t want the family ganging up on me to guilt me and Honey into staying put.”

  “Fine. You’re supposed to be the responsible older sibling, you know.”

  “Who the hell said that?”

  Eddie smiled. “Know something? If you hung around more often, I wouldn’t be off-my-ass shocked that you’re actually kind of cool.”

  * * *

  This part of the Fuenteses’ main house was quiet—or what passed for quiet in a place packed with people talking, hollering at TV sports, singing along to music and jiving around.

  Coming into a parlor that resembled Meg’s offbeat decorating style but with unmistakably high-end flair, Remy gratefully accepted the drink a housekeeper brewed from an espresso machine on the buffet near the door.

  He didn’t speak until he’d sunk his weary body onto a slipcovered parsons chair, drank through the burn of the liquid, and rubbed his eyes. “I think you chose the wrong man for this assignment.”

  Anita Esposito Fuentes, halfway up a rolling ladder with a stack of books in the crook of one arm, stopped what she was doing and climbed down.

  She’d given Meg her petite frame and dainty air that folks would think was more suited for storybook fairies than federal agents. The difference was Anita harbored no doubts.

  The FBI had been her stepping-stone; the elite covert securities branch she ran with her uncles and brother was her lifeblood.

  “A cup of what he’s drinking, Yasmin?” she asked the housekeeper, her smile as fresh as the bouquets he’d seen creatively arranged in Bonita Gardens’ lobby. The woman balanced dual lives masterfully. The Anita who June Creek knew was a pillar of a small community, a florist’s wife, an accountant, and an attentive mother. The Anita he knew was a flinty, unshakable ex-agent who helped run an underground security firm and wasn’t afraid to grab a guy by the balls to get things done.

  Merge the two and she was an almost superhumanly fascinating individual.

  “I’m requesting to be taken off the job, Anita.” He continued to speak freely—as Yasmin wasn’t a housekeeper at all. She was an operative installed within the household while Anita groomed her as an assistant and was currently helping Eduardo Fuentes develop intelligence techniques.

  The assistant who’d trained Meg to hone her memorization and face-cataloging skills when she was a child had been assigned the role of equestrian groomer and years ago quietly left the industry to enjoy a tropical retirement in Barbados.

  Anita and her children had been conditioned for the most dangerous recesses of law enforcement. Hector Fuentes was an average scientist running an average florist company. God help the man.

  “¿Que pasa? Around here a man’s word is all he has,” Anita began, setting the books down on a table before sitting cross-legged on the floor and taking her espresso. “You gave me and my firm your word that you’d see this to the end.”

  “I should’ve told you no in the beginning,” he said, recalling how it had nearly crumbled him that Meg’s mother had personally sought him out and pulled him out of the shadows because she’d learned Antony Grimaldi was tracking her daughter. Remy’s reunion with Meg had been months in the making, carefully planned to the finest detail so he could be reinserted into her life and act as her shield until Grimaldi could be convicted and neutralized. “I shouldn’t have let the past and my goddamn guilt rope me in.”

  “But…” she said gently, “that’s not what roped you in. There’s no question you felt horrible after hurting her in Arizona. To shoot the woman you loved while trying to rescue her? Awful.”

  “I didn’t take this assignment because I need the money. In fact, don’t pay me. Not a cent. I won’t take it.”

  Anita exchanged a smirk with Yasmin, who strutted to gather the books and shelve them.

  “What was that about?” he demanded.

  “I owe Yasmin a hundred dollars.”

  “For?”

  “She’s a wagering woman. Really, it’s a sickness. Anyway, she said you would try to quit. I said you’d stand by our simple terms.” Anita stared into her cup. “I still intend to connect you with the pigs who took your cousin. He was hardly older than my son when he died. You should know I pray for his soul—yours, as well.”

  “Thank you, Anita, but I can’t effectively guard Meg. Tonight she left the ranch—”

  “Yes, mm-hmm, I’m aware. Honey Sutherland helped her escape to a bar.”

  The woman didn’t appear concerned. “Is Honey—”

  “A part of the business? No. However, she was an annoyingly inquisitive child. When the girls were twelve, they conspired by email to meet an out-of-towner. He was a grown man interested in having sex with my child. I intervened before it came to that. For three years Honey pestered my husband and me, because she couldn’t fathom how we knew every detail of their silly plan.” Anita drank then started to twirl her brown hair. “It came to a head at Meg’s Quinceañera. The girls were going to sneak to El Paso, I blocked them and it came out that I’d been hacking Meg’s email. She was pissed and had me swear to never spy on her again. Honey, however, was intrigued. She’s not on my payroll, but that may change. She’s loyal to the family. Loyalty is very valuable.”

  “Grimaldi got close to Meg. It rattled her and it almost pushed me too far.”

  “Did you use a weapon?”

  “No.”

  “You did the right thing, Remy. Antony Grimaldi isn’t hiding or sending minions to handle the messy work. That’s a good thing, though it can’t seem that way now.”

  “Anita, he got to her because Meg asked me to stay away and I respected that. My job is to keep her safe, but it’s as if I’m less of a bodyguard and more of a… Damn it.”

  Meg’s mother had the gall to smile. “More of a lover?”

  Remy and Yasmin looked at her, speechless.

  “Are we not all adults in this room? Remy, you and I are engaging in an adult conversation. Yasmin, you’re openly eavesdropping on an adult conversation.” She set her cup aside. “Remy Malik, you’re the one my daughter chose. While she’s parading you around as her boyfriend and while she believes Hector and I don’t already know the danger she’s in, I see that there’s more truth to your ‘fake’ relationship than either of you will admit.”

  “Yeah?”

  “You love Meg.”

  Yasmin was no longer shelving books but was up high on the rolling ladder and smiling against a handful of hardcovers. “You love the hell out of her.”

  Anita shrugged at him. “If Yasmin and I can tell, do you suppose Meg can, too?”

  “What will it do to her when she finds out we’ve been working together from the beginning, that you’ve continued to spy on her?”

  “I suppose, Remy, that we’ll burn that bridge when we come to it. Until then, you’re not a captive here. Go to Dusty’s, but whether you go as her bodyguard or boyfriend is to your discretion.”

  Remy was neither. He was twisted-up in love with Meg, and he needed clarity more than his next breath. He wouldn’t get it here at the ranch and was restless without her.

  So he drove, guiding the rental pickup along June Creek’s peaceful roads until he found the dive bar on Minton Street.

  Joining the current of newcomers, he found people s
cattered. Some sat hunched over fried food, some surrounded pool and foosball tables, some occupied the bar, and some were dancing on the dimly lit floor.

  Meg was doing none of that. On a bar stool, her cane held between her knees and a mic in her hand, she was singing an unfamiliar country ballad while a cigarette-smoking band played on stage.

  Remy hung back, listening, falling deeper in love with every lyric she sang and the bubbles of tipsy laughter in her voice.

  “What can I get you, boss?” the barkeep asked.

  “Beer.” He nursed the cold drink until Meg hit the final notes of her song then he slithered through the strands of folks. “Finally, that voice comes out of hiding.”

  Her gaze landed on him, and her smile froze when he touched his beer to his Stetson. “You’re wearing the hat? Aww, it feels like I accomplished something.”

  “I stand my ground on the guitar issue.”

  “Understood. Give and take’s what it’s all about.”

  Remy chuckled and let her take a swig of his beer. “How drunk are you and the infamous Honey Sutherland?”

  “Shots and martinis. One each. We’re pathetically responsible tonight, but it’s wonderful to catch up with her. We were best friends growing up. I’ve missed her.” Meg pointed out the pretty blonde twirling and gyrating on the dance floor.

  “She reminds me of how you were in Mexico,” he said. “Dance with me.”

  “What’s in this beer? You’re crazy right now if you think I can dance.”

  “Just hang on.” He traded the beer bottle for her cane and lifted her off the stool. In the center of the floor, he lowered her until her boots were on top of his shoes.

  Meg’s eyes filled. “We’re dancing.”

  It wasn’t perfect, people had to be staring, and he’d never be able to give back what he’d taken from her, but this worked for them. Remy held her around the waist and moved carefully to the slow beat, and all she had to do was trust him.

  After a while she rose to her tiptoes. “I told you what’d happen if you wore the hat…”

  Remy’s entire form tightened. Except, he didn’t want to take more from her tonight. He wanted to give.