Oh. That was right. These people were scary rich. And the IPT was in dire need of capital.
Leland grabbed Justice by the forearm. “That’s our cue, Justice. Let’s leave them to the details.”
He guided Justice out of the room. Sandesh watched them go with growing concern. This was the woman who was supposed to do PR for him in the Middle East. Didn’t that job require tact? Seriously. She was going to get him killed.
Chapter 5
Sunlight streamed in from the large wall of windows. The entire conference room gleamed with light and the hum of business. As if everyone who came through those glass doors, sat in these leather swivel chairs, and rested arms on this table shared a drive toward financial success.
Justice twisted her chair back and forth. Leland hadn’t answered any of her questions. Just deposited her here and exited discreetly. Man did everything discreetly. He was probably a stealth pooper.
The door to the conference room swung open. Momma came into the room with a billow of veils, a jingle of jewelry, and a whiff of Une Rose—a heady Turkish-rose-meets-Tennessee-mountain-soil.
“I’m sure you’ve realized that I have provided a cover for your Jordan trip.”
For a woman who hid her face, Momma was incredibly direct. “Yeah. I noticed the hot humanitarian in your office. Kind of big to miss.”
“And I can imagine you are wondering why I’d send your team an email stating there would be a delay when I am providing the cover. A cover that will put you in Jordan within the week.”
The week? “Yeah. Why?”
Momma let out a breath so heavy it seemed expelled from the nethermost regions of her soul. The rose niqab moved with her breath. “I need to tell you something, something painful.”
Justice nodded. Her heart had already begun to fence with her ribs.
“I believe we have a traitor among us.”
“Us? The League, us?” Justice’s blood plummeted below cold, past chilled, down to Arctic. She shivered. “No. You’re jumping at shadows.”
Momma toyed with the ten or so colorful bracelets weighing down her forearm. “Am I, Justice? I’ve managed to keep this organization a secret for forty years. And my instinct tells me the fact that the Brothers Grim changed the location of their meeting, to a place where we have few resources, is not mere coincidence.”
A jagged spike of unease punched through Justice’s stomach. “Someone in internal security? Someone hired. Not family.”
Momma looked through the glass toward Leland. Justice followed her gaze. Leland and Sandesh stood by the front desk, going over some papers.
As head of the League’s tactical security and Momma’s oldest friend, Leland knew more about Momma and her secrets than any person alive. Justice often wondered about their relationship. It was close, but it couldn’t be intimate. Not Momma. Never that.
Momma shook her head. “Internal has been cleared. And besides, the information on your mission was given to a limited few.”
A limited few? Besides Leland and a few in internal, it had been given to…her unit. Justice’s hand shook. She rested it atop her knee. Momma suspected her unit?
In numbers, the Parish family could give the reality TV Duggars a run for their money. Except, all twenty-eight of her siblings had been adopted. She was loyal to them all. But it was her unit, those four she’d trained with, played with, fought with, attended classes with at the Mantua Academy that she was closest to—Tony, Dada, Gracie, and Bridget.
“How can you even think that?” How could Momma? No. She’d escaped people like that. People like her father, who’d let the Brothers Grim, Walid and Aamir, hurt Hope. The League was good. Honest. Real. They knew how much this mission meant to her.
Her mother’s eyes softened. “It was destined to happen, Justice. When dealing with the injured, the group dynamic won’t always supersede the instinct for self-preservation.”
That was bullshit. Not her unit. Not hers. “Why?” Not for money. They had plenty. “Why would someone do it?”
“Perhaps money. Not everyone is comfortable working within the League, being paid by Parish Industries.”
She was talking about Gracie.
Her mother looked beyond her, outside the window to the city. “I can think of many other reasons. To stop the League, to cripple us, to protect you, to make a point known only to them.”
“Protect me?” Her unit knew that this was her chance to make it up to Hope. For letting her die. For letting Hope die in Justice’s place.
“Many of my children have tragic pasts. A broken mind is a mind in turmoil. You can’t excise all those demons.”
“No. No. So you think Tony? Never.”
“He is angry, Justice. He accused the League of reverse sexism.”
What? When? Justice shook her head. That was bullshit. And the others? “You can’t think Bridget would? She’s practically a saint.”
Momma’s patient, brown eyes evaluated her. She could almost see her survey the texture of her words. Momma was careful like that. “Being a Buddhist doesn’t make you a saint. If anything, her recent foray into pacifism might lead her to try and thwart our more aggressive goals.”
“Gracie? She runs the underground rail—”
“She’s still angry about John—”
“And Dada’s—”
“No one from your unit can be ruled out.”
No one? What the hell? “So what, I have to replan this entire mission, in a few days, and keep it secret from my four closest siblings?”
“I have all the information you need. The false identities the Brothers are using. Where they are staying. The layout of their hotel suite. And a tentative plan waiting your approval. Including a PR convention in Houston your siblings will think you’re attending.”
Ice needles prickled under her skin. She wasn’t kidding. “You’re wrong. They wouldn’t betray me. Us. The League. Isn’t it more likely that my fuc—uh, mess-up last week alerted the Brothers? Made them cautious.”
Momma shifted forward, met her eyes. “Maybe. But are you willing to stake your life and the freedom of thousands of women on that?”
No. She wasn’t. This mission was too important to her. She needed to stop anyone else from being hurt. And the Brothers Grim needed to pay for what they’d done to Hope. And for what they’d done to Cee. Justice let out a breath. “And you’re okay using Sandesh?”
“He needs money. We need a cover. It’s win-win.”
Sure except for the part where Momma usurped his peace-loving purpose by secretly bending it to support her covert group of global vigilantes.
“Send me the details.”
Chapter 6
Sandesh stepped inside the elevator and pressed the Lobby button. The doors began to slide closed. A sultry voice called, “Hold the elevator.”
That voice was unmistakable. He tapped the Hold button. Justice entered. Her body electrified the empty space between them. His heart decided he needed more blood flow and kicked into high gear.
God, she smelled good. Something soft and feminine, like a bath filled with milk and lavender.
He so didn’t need this. He still smarted over their conversation in her mother’s office. He tensed, waited for her to continue the jousting. She didn’t. Her eyes brushed over him as if distracted. Was this a game? Or was she worried about something? Their upcoming trip to Jordan?
“Are you okay?” She stared blankly at him. He repeated himself. “Justice, are you okay?”
She startled, came back from wherever she’d been in her thoughts, and winked at him. “Better than okay. Care to find out? The Ritz isn’t too far.”
Her glossy, dark eyes skimmed over him like he was the meal, and damn if it didn’t shoot him full of hormones. But that open invitation to fuck got right under his skin, and not in a good way.
Not all
in a bad way either, but he was ignoring that part—the part of his body swelling with heat.
He wanted her. That was obvious. But what she’d said about the IPT, her derision of the work he’d been organizing for years. Work he found worthwhile, even redeeming, really got on his nerves.
Worse, she’d been so casual about it. She’d first made every nerve in his body light on fire and then put down his work and practically accused him, and all men, of having no more feelings than fight or fuck. And to drive home the point, now she invited him to the nearest hotel.
“Justice, I think we should work on the business aspects of this interaction. There are a lot of details we need to work out first.”
Her eyebrows rose. Smooth, Sandesh. He’d sounded like he was only putting things on hold. That’s what happened with lack of blood flow to the brain.
The elevator dinged again and the doors slid open. A woman in a sleek, dark suit holding a thick, buckled briefcase stepped inside. She pressed the elevator keypad. He stepped past her and out.
Justice’s eyebrows rose. “We’re not on the ground floor.”
No kidding. But he couldn’t be in that confined space, smelling the invitation on her skin, when he knew damn well that he couldn’t sleep with her.
Not just because her mother was his biggest investor, but because he didn’t want to be that guy. He’d seen men and women who put all their energy into giving up control to anger or lust or the emotion de jour, and he wasn’t going to end up that way. Not again.
The elevator doors began to close. Justice stepped forward and held them open. “Are you sure you want to get off here?”
The double entendre in “get off” made his cock jump. And, sure, he wanted a lot of things, her included, but degrading himself for sex hadn’t been part of his programming since high school.
He inclined his head toward her. “I’m sure we’ll see each other soon.”
She smiled a grin so seductively promising he nearly bolted back onto the elevator. She let the elevator doors slide closed with a, “Probably on the plane.”
Chapter 7
Seated at his desk, Walid answered his cell with the first genuine smile he’d worn in days.
The white adobe walls in his Mexican villa caught the waning light from the afternoon sun as his brother’s voice came through as a booming spectrum of energy. “Hello, dear one, we are once again embarking on a journey to secure our world. And all the forces in the universe, seen and unseen, bend to our will.”
His heart thrashing with joy, Walid unhitched his shoulders and spun his desk chair from the cattle ranch’s dark wood beams, moldings, and comfortable red-leather seating to the window beyond. His eyes skimmed over the dry fields and distant mountains. “You can never just say hello, Aamir.”
“Because I have such a fine voice made for songs and speeches and winning hearts.”
Walid absently ran a hand along the scar on his neck. The scar made his voice sound congested and raw. It should never have been a scar. It should’ve been his end.
Aamir had saved him. Saved him for years after. Until they had become strong and wise enough to understand that the only way to be truly safe is to destroy that which oppresses you.
Rest in peace, Father.
“Yes. You are the beautiful one with the beautiful voice. Tell me, how are the forces aligning to our will today?”
Aamir paused. The considered beat drew Walid up in his chair. He turned away from the window as one of his men walked past carrying an AK-47.
“It seems the attack on our distribution center and the plot to assassinate us originates from information gained in your territory.”
The heat of accusation nipped Walid’s cheeks. The mole was here, at his ranch in Mexico. Would he ever have the loyalty of his men, like Aamir did?
No. Few people found him attractive. But they adored his brother, Aamir, who was both attractive and charismatic. Walid’s homely face, strangle-marked neck, volatile temper, and sexual proclivities earned him little respect. Let alone admiration.
There had already been a threat that he’d had to eliminate last year. Thankfully, his new head of security had proven himself both loyal and ruthless. Dusty had come into the organization with a fire in his belly. He’d doggedly replaced all of the men who’d guarded Walid, rotating them to see who could be trusted.
Still, the process of weeding out his part of the operation wasn’t complete. If there was a weakness for this type of exposure, it was with him in the Americas. Not Aamir in Europe.
“Did the informant tell you this?”
The informant, even though he had warned them of the assassination, irked Walid. He was an unknown who’d contacted them only through email. He’d used multiple proxies and thus they had not been able to locate him. Yet.
“Yes. After the original warning advising us to change our meeting to Jordan, I was contacted again. I paid again, was told of the spy and that this group desires to take us out together. They will wait an additional two years for us to meet again. By this, we can surmise this group knows that killing both of us leaves no successive leadership.”
Walid ground his teeth. Their tactic, never employing men under them for too long or who were too ambitious, had guaranteed no one tried to overthrow them. Or so they’d thought. “And this is the world turning in our favor?”
Aamir tsked. “We make fortune. The world responds to our will.” His brother’s tone had become slightly sterner. “If it had not been for our power, we would have walked into a trap. Now, we have time to find our enemies and make a great profit.”
Walid eyed the portrait of the Indian slum in which they’d lived as boys. A dark and distasteful image that reminded him obstacles could not only be overcome but pulverized. “So you are settled? We will move our focus to the Middle East. Diminishing our channels in South America?”
“It makes the most sense. With the buildup of refugees and smugglers looking to profit, we can easily secure product and use our existing distribution chains in Europe and North America.”
Product. He meant females, but Aamir would never say that. He was careful. Mostly. “But the Middle East suppliers are men with fevered minds. They have a morality as tied to the wind as the clouds. It is always shifting. Perhaps it will shift against us.”
“Their focus is not on us, but in continuing their fight. They have boxed their ambitions along with their libidos into the smallest corner possible.”
“Yes. I’m surprised they can take a shit without praising God.”
Aamir laughed. A sound so welcome it made Walid’s heart leap.
“True. And like any trapped, wild animal, they will run through the first opening. Our money is a doorway. They need it to keep their war going. We are invaluable to them. And, even better, it will be some time before any agency of significance notices.”
Walid nodded as he did the mental calculations in his head. Ten women, servicing fifteen men a day, even minus food and shelter, could net them a million dollars a year. And this agreement would get them a thousand times that amount. “Fine. We will move forward with the Middle East. And to weed out the spy, I will contact my head of security. The man is brilliant. Former FBI. He is just the type of wild dog we need for this hunt.”
“Yes. I’ve seen the file. Set him loose.”
Walid gripped the phone a little tighter. Watched the second hand sweep the sun-shaped clock that hung upon his wall. “We will be together soon?”
“Next week, Walid. In Jordan. Get your papers ready.”
Walid exhaled a deep sigh of relief. Jordan would not be so bad.
Chapter 8
Swinging her briefcase strap over her shoulder, Justice cut across the Mantua Academy’s parking lot, her jaw tensing. Late again.
Sandesh was probably already at the airport. Thankfully, it wasn’t far from the school.
Gracie: The kid is scary.
What did she mean scary? For someone who ran the underground railroad, the family’s computer operations used to find and safely place abused women, Gracie could be so judgmental.
Justice: She’s had a rough road. Just process her.
Gracie: She’ll never pass a psych eval.
Justice: That makes two of us. Do your job. I’m off to a convention in Houston.
A.k.a. secretly going to kill the Brothers Grim. She shoved her phone in her pocket, grabbed the car handle. Her phone rang.
She lifted her eyes to the blue sky. Really, God? I’m one of the good guys. She answered. “Yep.”
“Ms. Parish. This is Guadalupe from external security. We need you at southie.”
“No can do. I’m late.”
He paused. “But your father’s here.”
Shit. Shit. Shit. “Don’t call him that.”
She hung up.
* * *
Justice exited the school’s main gate and drove to southie—a side lot at the head of the long, winding road that led to the school.
People who didn’t have clearance to get on campus waited here for approval or for someone inside the school to come out to them. Usually teen boys waiting on teen girls.
Justice parked in the open lot, got out of her car, nodded at Guadalupe, and walked past the flagpole, whose metal clip clang, clanged against it.
“Cooper.” Justice pushed up her sunglasses and examined the man wearing worn gray pants splattered with paint. He had shifty eyes, a shifty body, and a shifty smile.
His dull eyes blinked. His sleepy mouth rolled into a smile. “Hey, kiddo.”
I Am Justice Page 3