Enduring (Family Justice Book 8)

by Suzanne Halliday

  “That’s what all this is about,” she said with a gesture at the fire pit. “The flames.”

  “Yeah. Fuck this shit, Remy. Leave it all out here in the desert and then go take back your life. You don’t truly win until that happens. Just sayin’.”

  “I know,” the raven-haired beauty mumbled. “It’s just hard. I’m not who you think I am.”

  Oh, my god! That was so goddamn funny she laughed hard enough to nearly topple onto her ass.

  “Not who I think you are? Really? Ahahaaa! Gurl!” she barked with snarky laughter. “Do I strike you as a closet romantic who fangirls hard to this day over Princess Diana?”

  Remy dissolved into laughter. “Fuck, no!”

  “Well, it’s true,” she hollered as tears of laughter fell on her cheeks. “And I’m a sucker for Josie and the Pussycats although I will murder you if that factoid gets out.”

  Remy fell on her butt and rolled around while gales of laughter erupted from her body. “I collect Sweet Valley High books. There are hundreds. And miniature anything. I have a tiny space shuttle. NASA was what got me interested in flying.”

  “Do you miss it? Flying?”

  The laughter stopped immediately.

  “No.”

  Domineau noted the swift, certain response.

  “It was the mission, not the actual flying. Once all that got fucked up, the thrill was gone.”

  “Can I ask a personal question?” Domineau could see she took Remy by surprise with the asking.

  “About flying?”

  She sneered. “Nah. Tell you what, let’s make a deal. I won’t ask about flying if you don’t ask about kill counts.”

  Domineau took a swig of whiskey and wiped the residue from her lips. Remy followed suit.

  “What the fuck with you and Red’s hot ginge bro? Please tell me you’re climbing that tree.”

  Remy’s mouth fell open. “Er, um, huh?”

  “Finn. Beantown O’Brien. Sexy hot ginge. Him. You have the good sense to be fucking him, right?”

  “No!”

  “And why the hell not, Remy? I’ve got eyes and so does most of the town. That man loves you, lady. Jace told me the dude has been holding your purse for like an entire year. Is that true?”

  “Well, yeah. But no. And my cousin is so gonna die for telling you that.”

  She chuckled. “It’s not Jace’s fault that you don’t have what it takes to suck Finn’s dick.”

  “Oh, for god’s sake, Domineau. Cut it out.” Remy glared at her and almost put Domineau on her ass with laughter. “Finn’s dick is none of your business.”

  This only made her laugh harder. “Is it your business? Finn’s dick? You got that thing on lockdown or what?”

  “Don’t wanna discuss it,” Remy mutter-slurred.

  “Yeah? Well, tough titties, babe. The way I see it, you’re obligated to tell me whatever the fuck I wanna know. And right now, I want you to explain why the hell you aren’t doing that man morning, noon, and night. I mean you two are all but living together, right?”

  She knew damn well she was pushing a bunch of Remy’s buttons. Thanks to Cam’s intensely deep dive into the past, Domineau had a very good idea what sort of nonsense the troubled woman had been into before Justice rescued her from herself.

  Remy stood and moved closer to the bonfire. She kicked at some stones and sent them arcing into the glowing coals. Domineau wondered if she would try to deflect, so when she answered with bald truth, she listened carefully.

  “I like Finn. A lot, a lot. He’s a giant pain in the ass, but I feel most like myself with him.”

  “All guys are giant ass pains, so what’s the problem?”

  The fire illuminated Remy’s grimace. She looked into Domineau’s eyes and shook her head. “I don’t know how to have anything except angry sex. Really angry, really empty sex.”

  Hmph. Okay. “Are we talking mindless hookups?”

  Another grimace. This one looked really awkward. “No. There was nothing mindless about it. I, uh, went looking, and it was always different. Shy guys left crushed. Arrogant men used and discarded. Whatever angry windmill I was tilting at any given moment was what I acted on. With a lot of drinking thrown in and the surreal fact that I rarely lose at poker. Got run out of a few towns.”

  Domineau whistled. “Wow. Does Beantown know this?”

  “What? That I’m a slut?”

  “Get real, Remy. Cut that shit out, right now. It takes real effort to earn slut status, and you’re not even in the running.”

  “I just know Finn’s gonna get hurt. When he figures out that the poor little rape victim isn’t a damaged virgin.”

  “Is that what you’ve been saying to his dad? That you’re an evil slut?”

  “How do you know I talk to Paddy O’Brien?”

  Domineau shrugged. “I know lots of things.”

  “Paddy makes me feel normal. He’s been around. And he’s got that whole gruff, steely cop thing going on. It’s familiar.”

  “So you talk to the father and not the son?”

  “Shit.”

  Instead of beating a dying horse, she let it go. Remy heard what she was trying to say, and that was enough. She either had the strength to overcome this thing once and for all, or she didn’t

  Standing, Domineau began to unbutton her shirt.

  “What are you doing,” Remy asked.

  ‘Time to get naked.”

  “Excuse me?” Remy wheezed with gurgles of laughter. “Naked?”

  “Except for whatever is on your feet. Don’t want to step on any surprises.”

  She had her shirt and bra off and was reaching for the zipper on her jeans when Remy squealed. “Oh, my gawd, you’re serious.”

  “Of course, I’m serious. The guys get naked and howl at the moon. The least we can do is strip and call upon the moon mother for awesomeness.”

  They were both naked to shoes in no time. Remy did a slight double take at the scar on Domineau’s chest.

  “Your brother is a dick. Suicide by cop or life in jail?”

  She shrugged and scowled into the night sky. “Funny thing about a life sentence. It doesn’t always mean what we think.”

  “Oh, fuck. No.”

  “Yeah. He comes up for parole—again—in the spring. Found God and played the game. I suspect he’ll be walking the streets a free man at some point.”

  “Do you have contact?”

  “Fuck no.” She stroked the scar left by her brother’s madness. “Some things you don’t forgive. Or get over. When he killed my parents, he made me an orphan and guaranteed that he’d be dead to me forever after.”

  Chapter 12

  Despite the air conditioning, every lady gathered around the large conference table was either fanning herself or guzzling from bottles of chilled water. Arizona could be a brutal bitch about heat.

  Stephanie lifted the small antique brooch pinned to her plain cotton T-shirt. It was a timepiece, like something Mary Poppins would rock. The visual was so goddamn funny that Heather had to reel in the thigh-slapping guffaws threatening to erupt from her throat. Luckily, Tori interjected with her usual dry but hilarious commentary and got them all laughing.

  “Jesus, Mom. Don’t you think the Victorian jewelry with jeans and a T-shirt is a bit much? Especially since you work in a barn.”

  “It’s a stable, dear. The barn is separate. And to answer your question, piss off, okay? My husband gave me this, and I intend to wear it all the time.”

  “I think it’s lovely,” Meghan drawled, to which Tori made a noise and stuck out her tongue.

  Lacey sighed. She gave great sigh. Heather was sure the younger woman’s sighs were really old soul messages. Age was not a factor when it came to the roles each of them played in this unique gathering of women.

  Sweet, adorably innocent Lacey Cameron represented the soul.

  Meghan, of course, the heart.

  Snark Queen Victoria, unbelievably, brought the organized and logical rig
ht brain.

  Angie and her sister shared a no fucks to give attitude—an important ingredient in their group dynamic.

  Heather calmly chanced a look at Domineau. Whatever the hell was going on with her and Rafe was at the forefront of all their thoughts. The two were not exactly making a secret of the fact that they were doing it. However, that was just part of it, which was what made the whole thing a soap opera worthy of the popcorn bucket.

  Sophie used her majorette voice to bring them all back to the table. “Zip it, gals. Let’s move this along. We’ve all got things to do. Continue, Stephanie.”

  It was the end of a long meeting—something new in everyone’s schedule. The long-standing, informal coffee klatch where whoever was available would meet to coordinate, discuss, and dish had by necessity been slowly transforming into this planned get-together complete with a printed agenda.

  “As I was saying before being interrupted,” Stephanie snidely drawled with an eyebrow raised at her daughter, “the Curse Kitty now stands at three hundred and sixty-four dollars. Aside from the obvious fact that using a swearing fund with you vulgar lot was a genius move,” she turned and gave Lacey a cheeky Namaste that Mrs. Cameron returned with a giggle, “we have no reason now not to start one of the traditions on the official list.”

  “Is it wrong that we have a list, and that it’s official?” Meghan asked.

  Sophie nodded. “Yes! And while we’re on the subject, who decides what is official?”

  Domineau let out a loud snort. She generally said nothing but always got in on laughing at the group’s foolishness.

  Remy actually opened her mouth and uttered words. The most reluctant to be there of the whole group, she was still finding her way, and Heather silently encouraged the complicated female with every step.

  “Finn said no way to the Hookers and Harlots party at Pete’s. But I think he’s open to an English high tea.”

  “Ginger bastard,” Angie muttered. She winked at Meghan, and they shared a laugh.

  “Speaking of the English”—Domineau snickered—“don’t the Brits have a ginger prince? Saw his bare butt in the tabloids. Not bad. Anyway,” she taunted, “looks to me like the ginger twins, Finn and Harry, like their women a little on the exotic side. Know what I mean?”

  Ooh, snap! Heather perked up and studied this new element. Domineau openly needling Remy about Finn was an eye-opener.

  Every pair of eyes around the table swiveled to look at Remy. The little dynamo gave better than she got, though. Heather wanted to applaud at how adroitly she handled herself.

  First, she flipped Domineau off. Her nails were painted dark red and the only reason Heather noticed was because until recently, like right now, she could not recall Remington Bisset doing her nails or wearing makeup.

  Second, she came back with a pitch-perfect response, which more than earned her a spot at the Justice ladies table.

  “Since you brought it up, thank you for seeing the comparison. Gives me clearance to claim the Justice tiara for any formal occasion.”

  “Well played, Remy!” Tori boomed. Clapping her hands and getting everyone to join in, Tori rose and said it again. “Well played!”

  Sophie snorted. “Oh fuck, really? We have a Justice tiara? How didn’t I know this?”

  Stephanie performed her standard-issue bodacious Southern twang, Mae West-style, by poofing her hair. “Well, I just had so many, shugah! Donatin’ one was the least I could do!”

  Domineau rocked in her seat and laughed like hell. It was becoming amusingly obvious that the female Justice Brother enjoyed pushing Remy’s buttons.

  “Practice your royal wave, Bisset!” she barked.

  Heather smiled and then felt that old familiar heart tug of disappointment when Angie rubbed her belly.

  “Parker says this thing Finn has planned will end up being the mother-of-all events. I know it’s not till after the challenge, but he already got Kelly to agree to fly in for the weekend.”

  Heather nudged the little woman sitting cross-legged on the bench next to her and chuckled. “Now that she and Roman have a place in town, you can bet on seeing a lot of them. Even after they head back to New York for the fall term,” Heather said. “And there’s a reason Finn wants her here for his party.”

  “Do tell,” Sophie drawled.

  Kelly laughed, sat straighter, sucked in her stomach, and pushed the girls out, front and center. Then she made a cocky muscle by flexing a bicep.

  Heather applauded. “The lady is a bona fide pool shark. Girlfriend might be little, but she is also mighty. Even Brody says she can’t be beat.”

  “Oh, you mean like with Remy and card games?” Once again, Domineau’s contribution felt like either a gotcha or deliberate needling.

  It was starting to feel like things were going off the rails. The heat and a long meeting were making all of them antsy.

  Stephanie clapped her hands real loud—twice.

  “Shut it! No time for discussion—this is what you get for being an unruly group. Our Curse Kitty is going to fund a new custom, and this one is just for the gals. Executive decision time. Off the top of my head. Every other month we will plan a ladies’ tea. Dress up, fancy nibbles, china cups, the whole deal. Female younglings included, of course.”

  “Hats?”

  Heather chuckled at Lacey’s innocent sounding question. She was on a hat kick lately.

  Stephanie gave the hat idea a few seconds of thought. “Definitely worth considering.”

  “God,” she quipped. “Bella will lose her mind. Dress-up tea? Fancy hats? I can’t wait for her and Molly to start planning outfits.”

  Domineau’s sarcastic grunt let them all know what she thought of the whole thing. About to refocus on what Stephanie was saying, Heather hesitated. Domineau had a vibe that was not there two minutes ago. Pretending to study a little notebook she laid on the table gave Heather an opportunity to observe her.

  Domineau was one of those women who had the ability to be perfectly still. Unnaturally still. Heather figured this subtle capability was what helped her earn the Smoke nickname. She really could waft in and out at will.

  Heather sensed a building agitation in her movements. They became sharp, tense, and obvious. It was all lighthearted and jovial until … when? What happened or who said what to bring about her complete reversal of mood?

  Stephanie was doing a head count for the official record. “So, ladies’ tea it is. Lacey and Lily, aw, how sweet,” she cooed. “And perfect.”

  Everyone nodded.

  “Meghan and Stevie. Heather and Bella. Domineau and Molly.”

  Stephanie continued, but Heather tuned out because in that instant, she understood Domineau’s mood shift. Everyone just assumed she and Rafe’s daughter were a team. As a couple, the two were barely at the acknowledging stage, much less taking relationship roles.

  She got lost in her thoughts and barely got it together in time for her part of the meeting. When Stephanie handed her the bedazzled gavel, Heather stood and jumped right in.

  “Stephanie is handing out a Venn diagram I threw together,” she began as papers passed hand to hand. “Will explain a lot and save time since I know we all have crazy schedules.”

  Holding up her iPad and pointing at the center of the design, she spoke in quick, direct bursts.

  “Everything is connected to this—the perfect assistant. In some form or fashion, we all need a valet. No joke.”

  She put the pad down and gestured to Sophie. “You need an assistant.” When Sophie started to object, she held up her hand. “Nope. Not hearing it. We all get it, Soph. You are woman, and yes, we hear your roar. But enough with the Wonder Woman act.”

  Meghan had a laugh and blew her sister-in-law a kiss. “Sorry. I heard the word woman a couple of times and thought, that’s a lotta woman, and then I thought, yeah, well Sophie.” She shrugged. “You feel me, right?”

  The whole assemblage of women—except Domineau—chuckled, nodded, and in some cases, cl
apped. Sophie’s badassery was genuinely admired.

  Heather steered them back to the reason for the diagram. “And just so we’re clear, Ms. Marquez, here’s how it went. Jace grumbled to Remy who got aggravated and bitched to Finn who got annoyed that she was pissed and went to his sister who, as we all know, gets the final say in all things at the Double M. You are getting an assistant. Period. Angie has graciously agreed to head the search committee.”

  Sophie gasped, croaked, “Fuck my life,” and dropped her head into her hands.

  Angie giggled and rubbed her hands together with obvious glee. “I’ve waited for this since you packed my honeymoon suitcase. Paybacks are a bitch, huh?”

  “Now, next priority. Stephanie Dane. Nobody can take it anymore, Duchess. Calder is worse than a broken record. His grumbling infects the guys, and lets’ face it, shugah,” she mimicked, “none of us are here for a group whine from the men.”

  Stephanie huffed and puffed. She smoothed her hair and pursed her lips. The whole beauty queen performance was a lame attempt not to give in. And then she threw up her hands.

  “Okay, fine. But it’s not like finding someone I can deal with who can also whip a crew of know-it-all cowboy types into shape is going to be easy. I’ve looked, so believe me.”

  Heather had the answer and was quick to play her best hand ever. She gestured to the paper diagram. “Lower left corner. Mrs. Rebecca Alden Tate. Age, thirty-three. Army and a couple of deployments.”

  “The homeless vet,” Kelly murmured.

  “Yes.” Heather nodded. “She got a raw deal. Had a husband who wasn’t thrilled that his wife was military. He bows out while she’s on deployment. There’s a daughter who she nearly loses custody of because of her military commitments. Fast forward. She’s homeless and has a twelve-year-old kid. The reason any of this is germane to this discussion is this. Becca Tate was a warrant officer. Human resources and procurement. In the Army. And she was good at what she did. Life, however, doesn’t always care how good you are. The way I see it is this—she needs a couple of things.”