So much for do no harm. If he hadn’t ducked right when he had...Malachi abhorred violence. There were so many other ways of dealing with conflict. The woman could have killed him. He made a mental note to avoid being alone with her until she’d had time to cool down.
In the meantime, he had a party to host.
***
Several hours later Mal laughed, watching Julia across the room. He was looking forward to the rest of the party. He’d make it his mission to keep her so riled, she’d have no choice but to explode...again.
He made a mental note to duck when needed.
What he hadn’t counted on was Julia’s apparent ability to avoid confrontation. It took him nearly an hour to find her.
The dress was lovely, low-cut and revealing. And a good color choice for her.
He might not have liked her personality, but even he had to admit there was nothing wrong with her body. Pity she usually kept it so ruthlessly covered.
He either saw her dressed in shapeless suits or medical scrubs. Scrubs were his favorite—they at least hinted at the female body beneath. And when dressed in her medical garb she appeared confident.
She was hard at work helping his sister Alex set out punch, applying herself to the task with utmost concentration. Hiding.
“Dr. Bellows, I was at least hoping for one dance before the night ends. Instead I find you in here.”
“I’m sorry; I make it a point not to dance with apes.” She didn’t look up from the peach punch she was ladling. Mal heard his sister snicker.
“Julia is a bit angry at me. She wouldn’t really say I’m an ape. Then I’d have to say she was a shrew, or something of that nature.” He grinned at the shrew in question. “I would never do that.”
“Of course, you’re too perfect for that.” She thickened her slight accent into a more noticeable southern drawl. “And who would ever accuse the great Malachi Brockman of not being perfect? Surely not I.”
She showed just the barest hint of teeth before looking away. “If you’ll excuse me, I need to use the restroom.” She left Malachi and Alex standing watching her back as she wove through the reception hall.
“Good one, Mal.” Alex bumped his shoulder with hers. “What did you do to her this time?”
Malachi smiled. “I probably deserved the stapler she heaved at my head this morning. I just can’t seem to resist pushing her buttons. But she will dance with me before this party ends.”
He’d make sure of it.
It took him another forty minutes to corner her, and it was only in front of Ana and Paige that he did.
Julia wouldn’t dare make a scene in front of her friends. And one thing Malachi could say about Julia was that she valued and protected her friends. God knew the woman didn’t have very many. Just Georgia, Ana, Paige, and Alessandra.
As luck would have it, the tempo slowed just as he slipped his arms around her. A woman’s voice, low and throaty floated over the dance floor, soon joined by more. Paige, Carrie, and Al sang beautifully, even more so when they sang together. This time they sang of enduring love, a song dedicated to the new couple.
Mal pulled his partner closer, ignoring the way she resisted. Her hair brushed his chin, but he allowed her to keep an appropriate distance between their bodies.
It wasn’t as if they were lovers, after all. It wasn’t as if they even liked one another. He just wanted to dance with her. He held her almost gently, one hand low on her back, the other holding her left hand against his chest. She wasn’t any bigger than Georgia or Ana and he’d danced with them hundreds of times. So why did she feel so different?
Mal didn’t have a clue.
***
Jules almost wished she liked him. Then she could pretend that the dance meant something other than him trying to torment her. And that was exactly what he was trying to do. And he was doing a damned good job, too. But he probably didn’t even know how.
The jerk wore the same cologne as her dead husband. If she closed her eyes, and shrank Brockman just a little she could pretend she was dancing with Rick again. They said the sense of smell was the most powerful for evoking memories and she believed it. Now. Damn him.
Julia tried to pull back. He frowned down at her and held tight. “You surely can finish one dance, Julia.”
She hated how he said her name. Nobody called her Julia. Hadn’t since Rick. She’d told Brockman to call her Jules, but he refused. “It’s Jules. J. U. L. E. S., for someone so damned smart you’re remarkably thick-headed. Don’t call me Julia.”
“Jules sounds like something you’d name a Cocker spaniel.” His words were mild, which aggravated her all that much more.
“Thanks. Try Dr. Bellows then if Jules offends you in some way.”
“Too formal for friends.” He guided her around the dance floor almost effortlessly. They never once stepped on each other.
“We’re not friends.” It took her a few moments to say it, but it did come out completely flat. Mild. Truthful. “We don’t even like each other. Not that I will admit that to anyone else. Don’t want to be accused of blaspheme against the great god Brockman.”
“Of course we’re friends. Why else would we be dancing?”
“Because you’re a sadistic moron who can’t tell when someone wants nothing to do with you. Far be it from me to point out your idiocy. You’re the great psychologist, shouldn’t you be able to figured it out for yourself?”
***
The entire time they danced she never raised her voice, never gave any indication she wasn’t perfectly content right where she was. Malachi had to admit a small bit of admiration. The woman could say so much while saying so little. He pulled her a bit closer, just enough that he could feel the barest hint of her body pressed against his. If possible he thought she was thinner than Georgia or Ana. Too thin. He had no trouble feeling the outline of her ribs beneath his hand. Unhealthily thin.
He remembered the home videos he’d watched with Georgia just last week. He’d stopped by for a visit and found the extremely maudlin woman weeping as she’d watched four-year-old videos. It had concerned him at first, but Georgia had explained. She’d forgotten what it was like to have a toddler around, so she watched videos of Matthew’s second birthday.
Malachi watched with her a moment, eyes cataloging what appeared to be a happy, healthy young couple play with the beautiful little boy Malachi considered an honorary nephew. He’d watched as a younger Georgia answered the doorbell, revealing Dr. and Dr. Bellows.
The man was of average height, with brown hair and eyes. Average. Until the camera focused on his face, where the sparks of humor and intelligence were hard to miss.
But it was the love in the man’s eyes as he looked down at the beautiful brunette at his side that Malachi would always remember. Dr. Rick Bellows had adored his wife, and it didn’t take a behavioral scientist to see it. For a moment Malachi had wondered what it would be like to love a woman that much. To have her look up at him with just that expression that Julia had shot at the man.
Malachi had barely recognized her. She’d had glorious curves, for one thing. Dressed in a low-cut blouse that flattered her body and coloring, she was a very stunning woman. And she flaunted that in front of her husband. He just looked at her with indulgence as she flirted and pranced around him. The woman on video was nothing like the plain little stick she tried to convince everyone she was now.
But it was her laughter that had choked Mal up. Free, uninhibited, audacious, beautiful, full of life and love. Heartbreaking when he considered the woman he knew now.
Once he got over the initial shock he’d tuned back in to the action on the video. It took him a moment to realize the truth—Julia had stuck a cigar in Georgia’s hand. A pink and blue bubble gum cigar that signified one thing. Someone was pregnant, and from the way Georgia hugged her friend and squealed, Malachi knew it was Julia. He’d frowned and looked at his friend as she lay sniffling beside him.
Georgia had read his mind, some
thing she was good at. Her low explanation had literally broken Malachi’s heart. “This was recorded two weeks before the accident. She lost the baby the day of the funeral. That’s when we completely lost that Julia. I keep hoping, praying, we’ll eventually get her back. At least a little bit. Rick was her everything from almost the very moment they met. They’d been trying for two years for the baby. And having a difficult time. When she lost the baby, it terrified me. The Julia from that video was just...gone. I haven’t seen her since.”
Julia Bellows hadn’t just lost her husband that day, she’d lost her family. Her hope. It explained so much to him.
He pulled her closer, running a hand down her back when she protested, a gesture intended to sooth. He wasn’t fully aware of what he was doing, but as he recalled the Julia on video he needed the comfort. The danced on in silence.
He fought the urge to close his eyes and bury his face in the thick softness of her honey brown hair. It was completely straight and smelled like the softest of flowers. They swayed together slowly as Paige sang on. He tucked her under his chin, held her against his chest until the music ended.
He stepped back. She looked up at him, wariness and suspicion in her hazel eyes. “Thank you for the dance, Julia.”
“My pleasure.” Her tone made the lie perfectly clear to him. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I should go help Paige and Ana clean up the kitchen.”
“Not necessary. It’s my kitchen after all.” Malachi followed her a few steps. He didn’t make it; his mother stopped him, dragging an eager-looking young woman behind her.
Malachi heard Jules snicker as she escaped, leaving him to politely accept the dance partner his mother basically threw at him.
As he lead the woman to the makeshift dance floor—normally his dining room—he decided to let Julia have her retreat. This time. Besides, he wasn’t too sure what he’d say to her right then, anyway.
He didn’t see her again until half of the guests had dissipated. When he did find her, it was to see her standing protectively in front of Paige as both women glared at his brother.
Malachi knew Paige and Mikhail hadn’t exactly started off on the right note, but it surprised him they’d be so openly hostile toward one another. If Mick had said something to Paige to upset her, Mal wouldn’t be happy. Mal loved that kid, and if he had his way he’d adopt her into his family completely.
God knew Paige needed a family. He knew her story, knew how the courts had taken her and an older brother from her drug-addict mother three days after she’d been born. She’d been a ward of the state from that moment until the age of twelve.
Paige had hit the streets at the tender age of twelve, somehow surviving the next six years living in dark alleys and overpasses. Malachi had nearly vomited when he’d learned how she and Carrie had survived, had learned how they’d sang for food money, how they’d hitch-hiked for warmer weather when necessary.
He had even seen some of the scars on Paige’s scrawny body. Knife scars, belt marks, burn marks. The kid had been abused, had been through true hell—and still had an amazing capacity to love. Malachi did his best to protect her. In fact, he protected Paige more than he did his own sister. And she wasn’t even that much younger than thirty-year-old Alex. Of course, everyone protected Paige. Everyone. Even Julia, apparently. But Mick just ignored Julia, glaring at the much taller Paige.
Malachi didn’t quite understand his brother at times. Ex-military special forces, Mick had gone straight into the FBI once his six year term was up. He’d then spent nearly a decade as an agent in violent crimes and white collar before making a startling jump to Internal Affairs. IA—one of the most hated divisions in the Bureau.
Mal hadn’t seen him in nearly two years, until he’d shown up as a last minute replacement for one of the IA agents assigned to tear Ed Dennis’s career apart.
Malachi wouldn’t have Mick giving Paige a hard time.
Apparently Julia felt the same way. She slid her small body more fully between Paige and Mick. Malachi fought the urge to laugh at the bulldog expression on her face as she glared up at his brother. A long way up.
Julia was five inches of five feet tall-he’d learned that during a previous case—nine inches shorter than Mal. His brother stood twelve inches taller than Julia. Minimum. And Mick was extremely thick with muscle. He could pick Julia up one-handed if he wanted. And not even break a sweat.
But Mick didn’t even seem aware of Julia, all his attention focused on the much taller Paige. His brother growled something that had Julia’s expression darkening and her chin rising. Paige glared up at him, her arms crossing in front of her body.
Malachi stepped between them. “Mick, how about a beer before we clean this place up?”
His brother switched his glare to Mal’s face. He nodded down at Mal, though the dark scowl stayed on his face. Mick had a bit of a temper, Mal remembered many fights between them as boys. He was three years older than Mick and the battles they’d engaged in had been intense. Mal wouldn’t trade them for anything in the world.
Brothers did that. He slapped his hand on his brother’s shoulder as he led him back to the makeshift bar; he’d missed him, pain in the ass though he was. Infrequent phone calls and emails just hadn’t been the same.
Still, now that Mick was in St. Louis for two weeks Mal intended to make the most of it. They could catch up. Spend the Christmas holiday together with their mother and father and sister.
It would be their first Christmas all together in nearly a decade.
He knew his parents would like that. They’d moved to the city two years ago, a year after Alex had transferred to St. Louis. Two of their children in one city had been the incentive. Mal loved having them close, and knew Alex felt the same way. “It’s good to have you here, little brother. I’ve missed your ugly face.”
“Sure you have.” Mick snorted. “I’m sure you had plenty of people around here to keep you company if you needed it.”
“Yes. I had plenty of friends. But a brother’s a little different.” Mal handed his brother a cold bottle then grabbed one for himself. “So what was that all about?”
“What?” Mick glared down. Mal always found it ironic that his little brother stood three inches taller and outweighed him by fifty pounds. He wasn’t so little anymore.
“Paige and Julia.”
Mick scowled. “That girl. She’s going to get someone killed someday. Probably herself.”
“I take it you mean Paige? She’s very good at what she does. Why do you think differently?”
“I’ve seen her kind before.” Mick took a swig from the bottle in his hand. Both men watched the two women as they helped the Brockman parents in the kitchen. Their mother hugged Paige, patted Julia’s shoulder. She liked the two younger women, everything in her body language made that clear to Mal.
“What do you mean?”
“Young. Impulsive, reckless, idealistic. Pampered. Spoiled. Dark eyes that get them whatever they want. Until it gets them hurt or killed.” Mick slammed his bottle on the counter as he glared at the dark-eyed girl dancing around the kitchen, laughing with his sister. Mal watched his dad ruffle Paige’s dark hair. Watched her throw her arms around him and give him a hug. His father blushed, his mother laughed.
He pondered his brother’s words a moment...dark eyes? “You’ve lost someone, haven’t you, Mick?”
His brother’s eyes flashed, eyes the same color as Malachi’s. “None of your damned business, Mal. It’s not open for discussion.”
“Anytime it is...” Mal watched as his brother stormed into the kitchen. Grabbed the obviously heavy trash from Paige’s hands and shouldered open the outside door. The kitchen’s occupants paused a moment, watching him, as well.
Mick’s behavior confirmed Mal’s suspicion. Paige reminded his brother of someone—someone he’d cared a great deal for. Someone he’d lost. And Mick was taking his grief out on Paige. Unfairly. Mal would have to make sure the situation didn’t get out of hand—for eithe
r Paige or Mick.
In the meantime—that bag of trash Julia held did look somewhat heavy. He walked into the kitchen with purpose.
***
Julia was exhausted, but she wasn’t leaving until the last of the kitchen was spotless. She’d enjoyed spending the time with Alex’s parents and had probably stayed a little too late. She was exhausted and her whole body ached. Still, it had been nice to see how a family interacted. Marilyn and Kenneth Brockman were the kind of parents every child from a dysfunctional family dreamed about. Alex and her brothers were very lucky.
Julia’s mother and step-father had drunk themselves into oblivion every night until they’d died in a drunken accident around Julia’s twentieth birthday. Not exactly Norman Rockwell. Not like the Brockmans.
Julia, Paige, and them—Mick and Malachi—shooed the elder couple out the door. They’d worked hard enough pulling the party together, they didn’t need to worry about the cleanup, too.
After they left—Alex driving them home, Jules, Paige, and the two brothers worked diligently returning Malachi and Alex’s home back into the spacious open floor living area it was intended to be. Jules took down the decoration with silent help from the giant Mikhail. Paige and Mal collected all the trash scattered throughout the house. Even though the house was huge by most standards—huge and open, airy—it’s first level wasn’t designed to hold over two hundred people comfortably. But it had. And it was left to four people to clean up the results.
If Malachi Brockman and his brother weren’t there, Julia wouldn’t have minded at all. But they did come in handy for heavy lifting.
Soon it was all finished, the only thing left to do was carrying out the remaining trash bags. Paige and Julia agreed the brothers could handle that little chore, and Jules gathered her things. Paige would be staying the night. She lived clear across town, in a small basement apartment that was currently being repaired. It had been damaged by fire two months ago, and Paige had been staying with Alex and Malachi until the repairs were finished. Normally she stayed in the guest room, but had given that up for Mikhail.
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