Women were such peculiar creatures, and his Angelina was extraordinary on top of that. Now that he had her attention, it was time to take control. He had an unusual solution to her hormonal fears and manic behavior. It was a bonus that he could point to the past and find a sweet memory from their brief, secret love affair. He was certain that the connection would get and hold her scattered attention.
The bathroom filled with the coconut scent of her shampoo. He worked up a dense cap of suds while massaging her head. She was jelly in his hands.
Parker spoke in a measured tone and drew her into the past.
“Back in DC, I remember you completely freaking out about a test. Calculus, wasn’t it? Do you remember?”
She nodded, and a small grin quivered on her lush mouth. Staying quiet wasn’t easy.
He kept massaging.
“I thought you were going to blow a fuse. Somehow, your crazy coed brain worked that test up into the single most important event in the entire history of mankind. Failure would be cataclysmic.”
Her giggle and shaking shoulders let him know she remembered what a nightmare she had been.
“So I got you a pet to focus on.”
Angie’s gasp and outraged scowl was adorable. Calling Todd a pet was like referring to hot dogs as healthy.
He grinned and shrugged. “Well, okay. Pet is a long stretch. I got you a goldfish. We named him Todd.”
She tipped her head back to see his face and gave him an enormous smile.
“Eyes closed, remember?” He dumped a pitcher of water over her tipped head while she sputtered and growled.
It took half a dozen waterfalls to get the shampoo out of her hair. He rattled on about Todd the whole time.
“As I recall, the orange menace was a handful. Cleaning his bowl, keeping him fed. It was a lot of work.”
He applied conditioner and ran his fingers through her hair from scalp to ends.
“And how did you do on the calculus test that threatened to end mankind?”
She glanced back and smirked. He nodded and said, “Go ahead and speak.”
“I got a perfect score,” she proudly declared. “Aced it.”
“Do you get where I’m going yet?”
Her nod was a relief. “Yes. After I aced the test, you told me that looking after Todd short-circuited all my worries. I was always going to pass with flying colors but obsessing and making myself crazy was taking away the joy. I loved that stupid fish. Do you remember his funeral? Such indignity. The toilet.” She shuddered, and he chuckled at the memory.
He kissed her sweet lips. “We’re going to shut down the unnecessary sideshow and focus on the joy. Close your eyes and tip.”
He finished with a tsunami of water because he knew she would be distracted if he didn’t rinse out all the conditioner.
With a small towel, he began squeezing water from the ends of her hair and handed her what he was sure would be the answer to this dilemma.
“So we’re getting a dog.”
She flopped around in the water and grabbed the towel from his hands. “A what? Did you say dog? Parker! Are you serious? A dog?”
Her eyes lit up, and the face he loved to look at transformed with joy.
“When? When, Parker?”
He chuckled. Her enthusiasm and emotional turnaround was exactly what he wanted. A dog would give her something besides irrational fears to focus on. And she’d be less inclined to flit from one half-done thing to another with a dog to keep her occupied.
“I asked Jensen a while ago what he thought, and he gave me the number of a woman who fosters rescue dogs. She takes them in and finds good homes. I’ll call her right away if that’s what would make you happy.”
“I need to get out of this tub. It’s cold.”
The fact that he knew her as well as he did gave Parker an inside view of her reactions. She needed a second to think it through, so he gave her a bucket of seconds while scooping her from the tub and toweling her off. When she was rosy pink, he wrapped her in his big terrycloth robe because she preferred to wear him on her skin rather than don the flimsy satin robe she left hanging and untouched.
While she pondered, he led them through another husband task. Choosing and helping her slip into some lingerie ranked right up there on his top ten list. He went with a set in pink and white. The way her pregnant belly rose from the panties did strange things to his heart. And his cock.
Getting her boobs comfortably situated in the bra was another thing entirely. His wife’s glorious handfuls had bloomed in pregnancy. It appeared to him as though this particular bra would be history soon.
“The purple dress. That one,” she told him as his hand drifted atop the maternity clothes.
When he came to her, ready to slip the garment over her head, she was gazing at her belly and swirling her fingers on her skin. She looked up and met his gaze.
“She knows when Daddy is near. You calm her down.”
A lifetime of calming Angie down flashed in front of his eyes. Uncle Cris would ask him to intervene when she got out of hand. On some cosmic level, it made sense that the baby they made would share his or her parents’ traits.
He stroked the bump and splayed his hand wide. “You’re both safe with me. You know that, don’t you, Angel? I’ll never let anything happen to my family.”
She caressed his face. The sensation of her fingers softly grazing his skin soothed Parker’s soul. He was not kidding. He would die for her and the baby.
“I’m sorry for being a space cadet. You shouldn’t have to deal with my crazy.”
“No, honey. It’s my crazy too. That’s why we’re getting a dog. Focus on the joy.” Something squeezed his heart and nearly strangled his words. “We don’t know that this isn’t the only time we’ll get to do this. I want us to enjoy every minute.”
His heart filled with heaviness when he imagined his parents’ agony at losing a child. Angie was healthy. Their baby big and strong. It would be stupid not to get as much out of the experience as they could.
He slid the dress over her head and then led her to the vanity bench where the hair dryer waited. There was something pleasurably submissive about the way she held herself as he brushed out her long mane. Everything about her posture and demeanor was open and receptive. Her hands lay palm up on top of her thighs.
He was moved beyond words because the pose wasn’t premeditated. It was just how she was around him. When he asked for her trust and she let him be the guide, there was a meaningful power exchange that came straight from her soul.
He silently prayed he was the man that such love and trust deserved. There would be no way for him to go on if anything ever happened to her.
As the brush slid through her hair, he curled the ends the way she did. There wasn’t anything about his wife that he hadn’t committed to memory. He enjoyed taking care of her. It felt possessive and loving.
Her eyes found his in their mirrored reflection. “I want a houseful of babies, Parker. Enough for a squadron of Sullivan younglings.”
This baby thing was making him old before his time, but there was nothing she wanted that he wouldn’t eagerly agree to. That was just the way it was. Her happiness was everything.
It was easy to turn her words around and issue a playful jest. “What is it with you and the topping? That’s twice, and we haven’t even left the bedroom. Offering your sexy ass and now demanding a passel of kids?” He tsk’ed and shook his head.
His wife’s smile held the beauty of the universe. He wanted to bask in her joy forever.
“You’ve said it a million times.” She giggled. “I was born to be bad. Deal with it, husband.”
Well, she had a point.
“Thank you, Parker. Thank you for knowing when I’m off the reservation. Thank you for not taking my crap. Thank you for pulling me back. Everything you said makes sense, and I feel better. We are so lucky, and that’s all I should be thinking about. You, me, and our sweet baby.”
He f
inished her hair and stowed the dryer. With both hands resting gently on her shoulders, he returned her stare in the mirror.
“I don’t just love you, Angie. I adore you. Without you, my life would mean nothing. Everything—all the years of bullshit—it’s all led to this. We’re married. No one can take you from me. And we’re having a baby. A baby who will be a part of both of us. Love with your whole heart, Angel, and we’ll be fine.”
“I love you.”
He stroked her cheek. Everything would be fine. All she needed was a reset and some TLC.
“Come on, little mama. Let’s feed you and while we eat, you’re going to give me the 4-1-1 on the variety show.”
“Speaking of which”—she laughed and swung around on the vanity bench to face him—“wait till you see what we have planned for the after show at Pete’s! We are taking the Ladies of Justice to bump and grind fame.”
Yeah. He stumbled upon a piece of information or two about the burlesque show the girls were planning and honestly couldn’t wait to see what fuckery they had up their sleeve.
Chapter 7
“I wouldn’t worry, Brody. This is an easy fix, but maybe next time, you tell your guys to use their fucking heads. Big, huge difference between a picnic cart and an equipment trailer. A weight limit is a limit—not a suggestion.”
Remy shook her head at the canine crew’s dumbassery. Lazy idiots strapped a bunch of shit and a few dirt bikes to something that was little better than a utility cart and then somehow dragged it behind an ATV. The frame was now bent, and she would have to see if she could find replacement wheels. Would it have hurt their stupid male pride to ask for an ATV trailer? Fuckers.
Well, she thought with a sigh, at least Jensen has the good sense to know when his crew act like shitheads. She would not want to be in the canine team room when he went off on them. Brody was a nice guy, but he had no time for slackers or know-it-alls. As a boss, he had a reputation for ruthlessness. Step out of line and you were taken off the canine team.
“Let me take the hit with the Major.”
She guffawed loudly and directly into his smirking face. “What? You think I can’t handle Alex?”
Brody made a face. “Dude,” he croaked with laughter. “If I was you, I would be real fucking careful about the way I phrase that. Nobody handles Alex.”
They snickered, said, “Meghan,” at the same time, and then high-five hooted.
Brody’s assistant was a sanctimonious little twerp who Remy barely tolerated. Now that she knew he’d been part of Finn’s turn to the dumbass side she disliked him even more. Richie Zimmerman operated under the assumption that his shit did not, in fact, stink. He brought out all her uncharitable, bitchy impulses, so when he came running around the side of the building at an unusual rate of hurry, her first reaction was to groan. And then she saw his angry expression and how out of breath he was.
“Brody!” he yelled. “It’s happening again.” Richie held up a walkie-talkie. “Marty. Three klicks northeast.”
“Fuck.” Brody turned to her and said, “Call it in.”
He barked a series of orders at Richie. Something about a speeder and a rifle. The speeder she understood. Brody had a modified dirt bike that ate up the desert and spit it right back out. The beastly machine appealed to his Harley-Davidson mentality. The gun reference was a mystery, but she knew enough about Jensen’s backstory to know if he was calling for a rifle, this was not a drill.
Her brain screamed that something was off but she was swept away by the unfolding drama and took off at a faster than fast clip, running into the garage to leap around and over an obstacle course of stuff. At the security panel on the wall, she slapped the call button and tried to catch her breath.
“Station one,” a voice barked.
“One niner seven.” She used her Justice call number. “Alert. Aerial incursion. Sector four.”
Her mind was racing. Three klicks northeast would be …where?
“Base camp five. Jensen in pursuit.”
The voice on the other end muttered, “Shit.”
She added one last important piece of information. “He’s locked and loaded.”
Grabbing a pair of high-powered binoculars, she was about to head for her truck when something told her to hold up.
On autopilot, she ran to the lockbox in her desk drawer, opened it, and hurriedly checked out the pistol that until now she had barely even looked at. Slipping it into the back waistband of her jeans, she took a deep breath, remembered to take the binoculars with her, and sprinted to her truck.
In a spray of dirt and gravel as she floored it away from the garage complex, Remy put her foot on the pedal and headed after Brody.
The anxiety pumping through his body spurred him on.
Faster.
Faster.
The high-powered sniper rifle slung across his body felt like a boa constrictor moving into position. Each time he flew over a bump and the thing smacked against him, he gritted his teeth harder. The low growl of the bike kept him focused. This was not a good time for his anxiety to fire up.
Less than a mile from the ravine base camp where his team was training a pack of less-than-friendly attack dogs, he idled to a stop and searched the landscape. Ignoring the dull throb in his head—the psychosomatic result of his internal stress—his eyes swept side to side. His heart beat faster as his body mobilized for action. The familiar surges of cortisol and adrenaline that transported him to another time made his stomach queasy.
Overhead, a cloudless blue sky stretched to the horizon. He squinted and consciously slowed his breathing. It was harder to detect movement in the sky without cloud shadows. His right hand revved the motorbike’s engine.
There!
The bike sped off and banked to the right. He continued a short distance and then dropped the bike on dismount. Without taking his eyes off the target, he readied the rifle and peered through the telescopic lens. A glint from sunlight hitting the object appeared in the scope. He shifted for distance and pulled the trigger.
He might have held his breath—he wasn’t sure—but another flash let him know he hit the sucker. Continuing to peer through the scope, he saw something blow apart and fall. Ten seconds later, he was back on the bike, zooming toward the fallen object.
A noise over his shoulder drew Brody’s attention. He glanced back and found Remy in her monster truck racing across the desert floor. He was not going to admit this to anyone but Heather, but seeing the determined badass flying alongside as wingman greatly lessened his anxiety.
They got to the crash site at the same time. After dropping the bike, he ran to the mangled object. Remy pulled a pistol out of her waistband and covered him. He knew right away this wasn’t a Justice drone. This was something else. Something unfriendly. He stepped around a piece of debris and quickly took a series of cell phone pictures for forensic analysis.
His eyes swept the area several times but detected nothing. No movement. No warning signals.
“At ease, Remy.”
She stood down and put the safety on her pistol. “What the hell is that?”
“Surveillance drone.”
“Doesn’t look like any drone I’ve ever seen,” she remarked.
“Yeah, no shit. This is some next level tech. We need to get it to Alex right away. Back the truck up and let’s try to lift it.”
Brody stepped out of the way while Remy maneuvered in reverse. Just as she put the truck in park, the center part of the drone exploded. They ducked for cover with matching astonished expressions.
“Did that thing just self-destruct?” she asked.
Okay. This was not cool. Not cool at all. Drone sightings near the compound had increased enough that they were all on high alert. Last year, Drae shot a camera drone out of the sky that ended up belonging to a journalist looking for dirt. The agency sued the shit out of the guy, and Parker Sullivan made sure the proceedings hurt as much as legally possible.
But this was different. All o
f the most recent sightings were obvious surveillance, and this had trade craft stamped on every single piece of debris. Fancy professional drones cost a bundle but did not come with a self-destruct feature. And neither did the toy drones sold at WalMart. Whoever was doing the spying went out of their way to remain anonymous.
He grimaced at Remy’s question and nodded. “Any chance you’ve got a tarp in the monster truck?”
“I do,” she muttered. “And a camping shovel. I’ll get them.”
Brody surveyed the drone carnage with hands on his hips. A scowl set up camp on his face.
Whatever the fuck this turned out to be, it was not going to be good.
Chapter 8
Feeling like an impressionable twit overcome with illumination after reading an article in one of her parenting magazines didn’t faze Meghan one bit. Nope. Not when her gut had reacted so strongly. What the writer conveyed resonated with her. Music spoke to the soul. And babies, being newly born souls, had music reactions worth noting.
“So,” she cooed to Aiden and Stevie. “What’ll it be, hmm? One of Daddy’s favorite songs?”
’Cause he was the closest, she kissed Aiden’s nose, made sure one last time that everyone was secure, and then sat at the piano.
“How about something pretty to start?”
Her fingers fluttered over the ivory keys for a few seconds before an amused sounding question brought her up short.
“What’s all this?”
Meghan shifted on the piano bench in time to catch sight of Ashleigh and her enormous smile as her mother-in-law sashayed through the front door.
“Am I in time for a serenade?” she asked.
“MomMom!”
As she always did, Ashleigh came straight to her for a two-cheek hello kiss. Because Meghan was seated, Alex’s tiny statured mother loomed over her and smiled.
“I love the happiness that you bring to this old house. By waiting until the time was right, my son did okay.”
An involuntary snicker-snort shot from her mouth as she gave Ashleigh a skeptical smirk. “Mom, come on. It’s not like I was his first.”
Enduring (Family Justice Book 8) Page 13