Her dad?
Gia shot off the bed, shimmied off the shorts and snatched the jeans she’d thrown haphazardly on the chair next to the desk.
“No, I got it,” Beckett said, monitoring her progress. “You work with the rest of the guys. I need my focus on Gia until we can get him gone. We’ll be over when it’s clear.” He punched the end button just as Gia fastened the waistband on her jeans.
The knock came again, her father’s voice stern but loud enough to carry. “Gia, open up.”
“What’s going on? Why’s my dad here?”
Beckett held her stare, that muscle at the back of his jaw doing double time. The way he held his body, he looked like he was seconds away from ripping the first person who crossed him into tiny shreds. When he spoke, his voice was low enough her father wouldn’t hear it, but there was no mistaking the cold fury behind his words. “I’m gonna open this door and your dad’s probably gonna drop a shit bomb on you, but we’re gonna deal with it. You and me. Together. You got it?”
Not good.
Not good at all.
She swallowed hard and jerked a terse nod.
“Play dumb,” he said. “Don’t let on you know what’s going on.”
“I don’t know,” she all but hissed back at him, just barely stopping herself from stomping her foot.
The snippy retort earned her a tight grin, but did little to dim the burn behind his eyes. “Well, I do and that means my brothers will too in about five minutes. No point in your dad knowing we’ve got an inside track. We’ll deal with it. You remember that.”
Too frustrated to stand still any longer she stomped closer and motioned toward the door. “Just get on with it.”
He nodded, gripped the knob and gave her a last once-over as though trying to assure himself she was solid before yanking the door wide.
The hallway’s fluorescent lights spilled down on her father in slacks and a button-down, and a haggard, half-asleep man dressed in jeans and a wrinkled Oxford she assumed was one of his interns. There were only two circumstances that warranted her father openly displaying the level of indignation on his face in that moment—to convince a jury, or his daughter straying outside the lines of what he deemed appropriate. Since there wasn’t a panel of twelve people lined up off to one side, she could only assume it was her turn up at bat. “It’s two o’clock in the morning. What are you doing here?”
Her father’s lips tightened as though it was only his superior dignity that kept a slew of vile words in check. “I think a better question is what the hell have you gotten yourself into?”
“Excuse me?”
Reginald jerked his gaze away from Gia, raked Beckett with a disdainful glower, then jerked his head toward the suite, motioning the man next to him to move inside. “Inside, Steve. We’re not doing this in the hallway.”
Beckett moved in, not blocking him altogether, but stilling the stranger with a hand at his shoulder. “You’ll do what you’re here to do and you’ll do it with a mind to Gia’s comfort, or you’ll find yourself on your ass on the floor.” His stare shifted to Reginald. “That includes you.”
Her father hesitated for less than a heartbeat, then pushed through, forcing the man he’d dragged along on his errand through ahead of him. “I see Judd was right.”
Fucking Judd.
As if she hadn’t had enough to deal with already without hearing his name one more time. Gia shifted, stood beside Beckett, and crossed her arms. “Right about what?”
Her father walked the length of the suite, studying every detail. Whether he was surprised at the size of it, or still found it lacking his standards was hard to tell. “He said you’ve changed since moving to Dallas. Said your values weren’t what they used to be.” He glanced at Beckett. “That the people you deal with aren’t exactly trustworthy.”
Beckett didn’t move. Didn’t give a single indication her father’s barb hit a nerve, much less heard it.
But Gia felt the sting the second it connected. Felt the energy around them pulse and a subtle tingle flare along her skin. “If you came to insult me or Beckett, it was a wasted trip. You’ve done about as much damage as I’m going to let you do to me.”
“But it’s not an insult, is it?” Reginald said. “Given what I learned tonight, I’d say it’s fact.” Still standing by the sofa, he mirrored her stance and crossed his arms. “The authorities called me tonight as a courtesy. It seems the shooter at tonight’s event received the information they needed to get through security from an inside source.” He paused and grimaced as though just looking at her hurt. “From you.”
“What?”
Beckett’s hand splayed low on her back. A gesture meant to calm her. To keep her steady through the unexpected storm.
But she didn’t need it. Didn’t want a buffer or anyone holding back the rage exploding through every inch of her. She stalked toward her father. “Are you out of your mind? You think I’d leak information and risk my principal getting hurt?”
Her father didn’t budge. “It came from your IP address. Traced back to your email account.”
“Bullshit. That makes no sense. What’s my motive?”
“Apparently, money.” He looked at Steve and jerked his head toward Gia. “Show her.”
Looking like he’d rather shove his hand down a live garbage disposal, Steve glanced at Beckett then took the few hesitant steps to hand over a plain manila folder. “The Feds found an offshore account in your name. Money was wired into it the same day the email was sent. The money trail ties to a cartel out of Mexico and the shooter was a known player in their organization.”
Gia yanked the file from his shaking grasp and jerked open the pages so hard she nearly sent the pages inside it flying. “I don’t have an offshore account.”
“You expect me to believe that, Gia?”
“Why the hell wouldn’t you? Tell me one thing I’ve ever done that even hints at criminal activity.”
“The Gia who left here three years ago was one thing, but who you are now—I don’t have a clue. You all but disappeared. Random calls or visits at best. Then you show up with some stranger—one with a record and an unsavory past—claiming to love him when your mother and I don’t even know him. Now the job I recommended you for has turned into a federal investigation and all the evidence points to my daughter selling out the man she was supposed to protect.”
Gia snapped the folder shut. “Get out.” The words were nowhere near as loud or heated as her father’s had been, but they came from the deepest part of her, an iron resoluteness that shocked the entire room into utter stillness. “Get out and don’t come back. Don’t call me. Don’t even think of me.”
“Sir,” Steve said under his breath. “We have to make the call soon.”
Reginald huffed out a disgusted sound, not taking his eyes off her even as he answered. “I come to help her and that’s the response I get.” He pulled in a deep breath, squared his shoulders and clasped his hands in front of him, as if he were pulling his moral cape more tightly around him. “You clearly have no idea how dire your situation is, Gia. Homeland Security has issued a warrant for your arrest. However, given my connections, they’ve agreed to let us bring you in voluntarily to avoid unwelcome press. While I’d be content to let you drown in the consequences of your actions after the way you’ve repaid my trust and support, your mother would be devastated to see you suffer. Therefore, my office will represent you.”
“My mother would be devastated?” Her whole body trembled, adrenaline rushing all directions in a burning wave of fury. “Maybe she would be, but what you really mean is you want to avoid embarrassment. Want to throw your weight around and do what you can to keep things tucked away from the press.” She crossed her arms and jerked her head toward the door. “Go. I don’t need your help. Didn’t need it when I was growing up, or when you ridiculed what I decided to do with my life. And I da
mned sure don’t need a man—any man—trying my case who doesn’t even believe I’m innocent.”
The soft chunk of Beckett opening the door sounded behind her. “I think we’re done.”
If the moment wasn’t so abysmally pathetic, the open shock on her father’s face would’ve been funny. A picture worth capturing and passing around to the bevy of people who knew him. He quickly blanked it and lifted his chin in that arrogant slant that usually ended in him getting what he wanted. “You don’t mean that. Despite your anger and what you’ve done, you’re family. I’m willing to see this through and make sure you’re taken care of. We’ll get you through this and help you get back on the right track.”
One second.
One tiny click in her head where a detached understanding overrode all the years she’d waited, struggled and wondered what it would take to earn his approval. She could talk until she was blue in the face. Could try to explain her wants and desires—who she was and what she enjoyed—but he’d never listen. Never. What Reginald Sinclair wanted to see was all that mattered in his world. So why keep trying to show him who she was? Why keep trying to gain ground when the attempt was nothing more than a never-ending treadmill?
With more calm than she’d ever felt in her father’s presence, she turned, met Beckett’s steady stare and padded toward him.
Still holding the door open, he pulled her into the shelter of his free arm and squeezed her hip reassuringly.
Steve’s stupefied gaze volleyed between Gia and her father, the sheer novelty of anyone standing up to Reginald Sinclair clearly not something he’d ever expected to witness.
Her father noted it, too, and his voice took a cutting edge. “You’ll regret this, Gia. If you take this step, you’re on your own. Support. Money. You’ll get none of it.”
Once upon a time, the threat might have worked. Not because of the money, but because she couldn’t imagine a life without them. But in that second, she felt nothing for the man glaring at her. Not hate. Not fondness. Not even respect.
A quite calm filled her. Grounded and bolstered her courage. “You came here tonight with your mind made up. Tried and convicted me without so much as asking for my feedback. A shooter aimed toward the man I was hired to protect and you didn’t even call to see if I was okay. To my mind, it was you who took the first step. Years ago.”
Beckett’s arm tightened around her.
She dragged a deep breath and took the plunge. “I didn’t really know what it meant to have family when I left Georgia, but I do now. Mine’s in Texas. With Beckett.” She jerked her head toward the door. “You can go.”
Her father’s face flamed an enraged red and, for a second, she half expected for him to lose his much-vaunted control. He glared at Beckett for all of a heartbeat, then pulled himself together and prowled toward the door, Steve hurrying in his wake.
They cleared the threshold and Beckett released the knob.
Gia shot forward and caught the door before it could close. “Dad.”
He paused in the hallway and only halfway turned to hear what she had to say.
A sharp ache pierced through her sternum and her ribs seemed to clamp down like a skeletal fist around her lungs. Even in this he couldn’t give her a modicum of respect. Couldn’t spare the decency of meeting his own daughter’s eyes.
Her eyes burned with the threat of tears, but she fought them back and straightened her spine. She’d be fine. It might take a while, but she’d make it. Somehow.
She forced as much confidence as possible past the tight knot in her throat and locked her trembling legs to keep them from buckling. “You screwed up not trusting your daughter and I’m going to prove it.”
Chapter Twenty-Four
The sharp, sweet jolt of pain up his forearm. The sting of the heavy bag’s rough leather abrading his knuckles. The burn deep in his delts, pecs and biceps.
Beckett reared back and put his hips into the next punch.
It still wasn’t enough. He needed more. Needed a fist aimed at his jaw or a forearm pressed at his throat.
He swung again, growling at the swinging bag and Haven’s otherwise empty gym. Fuck, but he wished his brothers would hurry up and get here. Wished they’d line up and each take a swing at him so he could find his fucking center again. Better yet, he wished Gia would take a swing at him. Wished she’d slap him, kick him or drag those nails of hers down his back. Anything but look at him with the emptiness that had filled her eyes in the three days since the door had slammed shut on her father.
Cock-sucking, no-good son of a bitch.
Over and over, Beckett rained fury on the innocent bag, imagining Reginald’s face with each impact.
But not Judd. No, that motherfucker wouldn’t get the benefit of anything so quick and easy. He needed something worse. A slow drawn-out pain that made his mind fragment into bits and pieces until there was nothing left but an empty husk.
Three days since she’d turned herself in. Aside from the crying jag that’d hit all of five minutes after her dad left, she’d kept her chin up and her back straight through the whole ordeal. Ignored the reporters scrambling for the best snapshot or sound bite like she was raw meat in a shark tank. Sat through twelve hours of Homeland Security’s finest grilling her up one side and down the other. Every second, Jace said she’d been tough as nails.
But those brown eyes of hers were dead. Like someone had unplugged the vitality and emotion inside her and left only skin and bones behind. The only hint his woman was still there was when she curled herself up tight against him at night or when they were alone. When her fingers laced with his and she squeezed as though a damned army of demons tortured her insides.
Heavy footsteps sounded on the stairs leading up from the garage below. Unlike his gym at work, this one was like the places he’d clung to growing up. Unfinished. Nothing shiny. Every weight, bag and mat as haggard and scarred as the life he’d been born into.
“Zeke’s got on scrubs with enough bloodstains to cover a transfusion in a pinch,” Trevor said with his dry Southern drawl, “but I’m thinkin’ he’d rather not have to deal with the hassle. So, maybe you can beat the shit out of that thing with gloves on like you’re supposed to.”
Blood.
The word flipped a switch in his head and brought what had been a tan leather bag into focus, deep red marking the rough surface. His knuckles connected with one of the bigger spots and a wet slap echoed through the room.
“Jesus, Beck.” Trevor jerked him away before he could land another, his arm banded around the front of his shoulders like he would if he were breaking up a fight.
Beckett fought the grip. Tried to twist and unleash his fury on Trevor.
But Trevor had his own skills. Street smarts earned early in life that made him lock Beckett down in a choke hold before Beckett could escape. “Brother, you gotta get a grip on your shit or you’re not gonna be worth a damn to Gia.”
The arm at his throat was a damper, but her name was far more potent. An instant leash, muzzle and cage rolled up into one. He held his arms up in surrender and lifted his chin for a better breath, the burn in his lungs making it clear just how long he’d been unloading his frustrations.
Trevor loosened his hold just enough to let him inhale. “You gonna get a grip?”
Beckett jerked a short nod and gripped Trevor’s forearm. The starched button-down grated against his palms, but there was heat behind it. A tiny tether to humanity. “What time is it?”
“Just past one. Everyone’s inside and finishing up lunch.”
Past one? Christ, he’d come up here before noon. No wonder the bag was so damned bloody.
Trevor unwound his hold, but stayed close, either prepped to catch his ass if his legs boycotted the idea of staying upright, or to put him back on lockdown. “Gia’s hanging in the kitchen with everyone else.”
When
Beckett spoke, his throat burned as bad as his knuckles, but the first bit of hope he’d felt in days poked its head out from under the covers. “She is?”
A wry grin crooked one corner of Trevor’s mouth. “Sucks watchin’ a woman you love hurt, doesn’t it?” Apparently satisfied Beckett was back in reality, he took another step back. “She’s not tradin’ verbal jabs with Axel or givin’ Knox shit like she usually does, but she’s present. Listening. Jace even got her to smile once.”
Thank God.
He exhaled hard on the thought and the knotted muscles in his neck and shoulders unleashed their death grip. “Thought she’d never get out of that bed.”
“Brother, she’s been through hell. Even if all she’d had to juggle was the arrest, the press and the questioning, she’d have needed some time to bounce back. Adding in that bullshit with her dad, you might as well have thrown a funeral on top of it. She’s strong, but she’s still human.”
The sound of her sobs after her dad had left were still in his head. Like a bad song you couldn’t shake loose and grated on every nerve. Every time she curled up close to him or squeezed his hand the volume got louder. “I should have tossed that fucker out into the hall. Should have dislocated his jaw before he could say the shit he did.”
Trevor scanned the room and locked eyes on the hand towel Beckett had tossed on the scarred, unfinished floor. He ambled toward it. “Looking back and second-guessing yourself isn’t gonna help. You did what you did and it’s over. You ask me, you stood by her while she faced down a demon. Anything else would’ve just delayed the inevitable. Now’s the time to build her back up and make sure she’s vindicated. You wanna pulverize someone, let’s make it the motherfucker who set her up.” He snatched the towel and tossed it at Beckett. “Now get your ass cleaned up so you don’t jolt Gia out of her stupor the wrong way when she gets a look at your hands.”
As incentives went, both were bull’s-eyes and got him back on track with unerring efficiency. Especially knowing Gia was up and reengaging for the first time in days.
Stand & Deliver Page 26