A Fine Balance

by Susan Johnson

  “Easy to say.”

  Remington leaned back in his chair, made no effort to disguise his sarcasm. “You have to tell them something. They worry.”

  “No shit. Having your name linked with cartels makes for awkward conversation over drinks at the country club.”

  Remington raised a brow. “You? Righteous?”

  “Uh-uh. I just draw the line at kissing their hypocritical asses.”

  Remington smiled thinly. “That’s my job. Your job is to stop the crusading Jack Morgan. Any ideas?”

  “He has a girlfriend. He’ll come for her. Guaranteed.”

  Remington scowled. “Why didn’t you say so before?”

  “I thought you might have other plans.”

  “No you fucking didn’t,” Remington snapped. “You wanted me to sweat.”

  “Do you? Sweat?” He didn’t think snakes did.

  “God dammit, don’t forget who pays your exorbitant fees!”

  “People who need shit done.” Hayes’ gaze was cool. “Just say the word and I’m gone. I have a waiting list.”

  “No, no, stay,” Remington said, quickly, walking back his temper at the speed of light. “I apologize.”

  Hayes eyebrows spiked.

  “Yeah, a real apology. Our local partners are afraid their fine, upstanding world might come tumbling down. You and I are supposed to take care of the fallout.”

  Hayes arched a brow. “We’re the grunts in the trenches.”

  “And they’re the five-star generals sitting in the war room a thousand miles away.”

  “You okay with that?”

  “Jesus, Hayes, you’re in a mood. If it makes you feel any better, the reason I’m okay with the arrangement is because my bank account will go up in direct proportion to their fears.”

  “Just so we’re all on the same page,” Hayes pointed out, his voice smooth as glass, “a couple questions. Do these rich assholes understand that we’re not just dealing with a bat-shit preacher who talks to God, or some FBI investigation that will peter out because a prosecutor’s afraid of losing in court?”

  “They do.” Remington lined up the papers on his desk with a couple nervous slaps, and looked up. “It’s clear to everyone that Jack Morgan isn’t some Mayberry deputy who can’t shoot straight. Worse, he believes in justice when fines without admissions of guilt are the norm. Someone should tell him justice doesn’t exist.”

  Other than what you can buy. “A crying shame Tweedy’s crazies had to make a scene with that farm hand,” Hayes said, rather than uselessly argue ethics with his employer. “A nice quiet burial in the woods wasn’t good enough for them.”

  “By the way, those hillbillies are expendable. The powers that be also want to know how much you need to make this go away. They understand the difficulties involved.”

  “They must be shittin’ their pants.”

  Remington’s eyelids drifted downward slightly. “They’re concerned.”

  Hayes smiled. “I’ll need more than the usual retainer up front. Morgan isn’t going to be easy.”

  “Give me a number. I’ll have it wired to your account.”

  “Two mil up front, another when it’s over.” Hayes walked toward the door. “I’ll drive north, reconnoiter and get back to you.” He stopped and turned. “Keep Tweedy’s psychopaths away from me. I’ll deal with them later.”

  Remington looked up from his smart phone. “Tweedy’s expendable too.”

  A twitch of surprise. “Since when?”

  Remington shrugged. “It’s been in the works. He’s been using too much of his product coming into Mexico from Columbia.”

  “At least he has an excuse. I thought he was just wacko.”

  “Both. But he controls the pipeline out of Laredo and points north, east and west. We needed his transport.” Another finger tap on his phone screen.

  “Past tense.”

  Remington nodded again. “Once this problem is resolved, we’ll be taking on a new partner. There.” He held up his smart phone. “The transfer went through. Check your offshore account when you have time.”

  Chapter 37

  Jack carried a large red toy box into the great room near the kitchen, took off the lid, set it on the carpet and lifted Zeke on top of the toys. It was a toddler’s dream. Zeke had been busy ever since, choosing a toy, playing with it briefly before tossing it aside--the level in the box going down, the pile on the floor rising.

  Jack estimated another ten, fifteen minutes of entertainment.

  Then he’d make lunch.

  Sitting beside him on the carpet, Jillian looked up and smiled. “It’s like Christmas every day with you. And I’m not only speaking for my son.”

  “Same here. You’re the nicest present I’ve ever had. I’ll show you my appreciation later, but I figured Zeke has less patience than you.”

  “I’m not so sure about that,” she murmured.

  He grinned, glanced at Zeke, saw he was busy, leaned over and whispered in her ear. “My favorite thing.”

  “Know what mine is?”

  “Pretty much.”

  A little heat in her green gaze. “So?”

  He shot a glance at Zeke.

  “He naps in the afternoon.”

  “When?”

  “Two-ish.”

  A quick look at his watch, a tiny frown.

  “What?”

  “My brothers are coming over later.” A minute pause. “I’ll reschedule.”

  But she’d seen the flicker of hesitation, the fleeting frown. “Don’t on my account. I was mostly teasing anyway.” She smiled sweetly. “I’ve gone without sex for years. I can wait.”

  At the reminder of her lengthy celibacy, his dick instantly responded. Although a celibate woman was unique in his world so maybe he had an excuse. Not that he’d be doing anything about it with a two-year-old in the room, so best re-focus. “My brothers won’t stay long. We’re going to go over some data Ray’s found. It’s for that murder case I’m working on.”

  “Don’t let me interfere. In fact, if you’re busy, Zeke and I could go home.”

  “About that.”

  She pulled away, instantly on guard. “Why the ominous tone?”

  “Sorry.” He took a small breath, hesitated, then said, “This murder isn’t a bar fight gone bad. It’s not even local. Ripples go fucking out in the world. And my house has security. Yours doesn’t.”

  “I don’t understand. Why do I need security?”

  “Because you know me.”

  “So this wasn’t some random crime.”

  “No.”

  “Seriously, Zeke and I are at risk? I want you to say no.”

  He sighed. “I wish I could. I never should have come to Wade’s office that morning. It’s my fault that you’re involved--even tangentially.”

  When she didn’t immediately reply, he thought, Shit, blew that one. He didn’t blame her. And any number of woulda, coulda, shoulda options were running through his mind when she reached up and touched his cheek.

  “I’m glad you came to Wade’s office.” A corner of her mouth lifted in a slow smile. “Honest to God--so don’t blame yourself. If you want us to stay here, I won’t argue.”

  It wouldn’t have done any good. Not that he was stupid enough to say it. “I really wish this had never happened,” he said, gently. “Your exposure I mean,” he quickly added at the sudden anguish in her eyes. “That you and I met…well”—a slight smile—“I’m beginning to believe in divine intervention.” Wrapping his arm around her shoulder, he pulled her close. “Thanks for not freaking out. This should be over in a week or so.”

  “If I’m in danger, you must be too.”

  “Just another day at the office.”

  “You’ve had problems before?”

  “I was undercover in LA. You see all the lowlife up close and personal. But, look, nothing’s going to happen here. You’re completely safe. I’ve got an electronic moat around the house.”

  “I know h
ow to shoot.”

  He did a double take. Somehow apple pie and Mama Bear didn’t jive with firearms. Nor was the local population particularly fond of weapons. The original hippies had been peaceniks. “Is that so,” he said, a hint of query in his voice.

  “Something wrong with knowing how to shoot a weapon?”

  “Fuck no. Under the circumstances, it’s probably an asset.”

  “Good.”

  He suppressed a grin. He hadn’t heard that schoolteacher tone for a while. “So how did you learn to handle firearms. Your husband?” He was shocked at the resentment in his voice at the word, husband.

  “My father taught me,” she said, ignoring his reference to Ben. “He was career navy, rigid, regimented.” A small shrug, a flicker of displeasure in her eyes. “But he was good with guns, so I am too.”

  “Jesus, I’d better watch my step.”

  “Don’t worry. You’re indispensable.”

  He laughed. “Good to know.” He also was beginning to understand how her father had gained full custody. A free-spirited artist mother with an uncertain income was at a disadvantage against a career navy man. “Your dad still around?”

  “Not that you’d know. Naval intelligence is his life. He was gone more than he was home when I was growing up. Our housekeeper kept me fed and clothed. We exchange Christmas cards now. He got pissed when I came to help Mom.”

  “I see,” Jack said, blandly, rather than, Holy shit. “Family dynamics can be a bitch.”

  “It doesn’t matter.” She shrugged. “Water under the damn. But,” she added, “I’m determined that Zeke’s going to have a better childhood.”

  “I know what you mean. I’m determined not to marry again out of apathy.”

  Startled, she stared at him for a second. “Apathy for you, security for me, same shitty marital results. We could go into therapy together.”

  “If I believed in therapy.”

  This time she was the one to do a double take. “Seriously?”

  Damn, he shouldn’t have said that. “I’m not completely averse,” he amended.

  “So what is it? For or against therapy?”

  Crap. A ready-to-pounce tone. “Does it matter, or how much does it matter?” he asked, caution in every syllable.

  She didn’t immediately answer, then shook her head. “Nah, doesn’t matter.”

  “Okay, then, against.”

  “Yeessss!” Throwing her arms around his neck, she murmured, “Freaking soul mates.”

  When she released her hold and sat back, he saw the tears in her eyes and taking her face in his hands, kissed her softly. “Too much therapy?”

  Her gaze widened. “How did you know?”

  “You’d never make a good poker player, Jilly-bean, but hey, that’s good,” he quickly said to mitigate her discomfort.

  “You sure?”

  He sat back. “Don’t get me started on my lying wife, okay?”

  She smiled. “I don’t even want to hear you’ve had a wife.”

  “Or you a husband.” He grinned. “Now that we’ve obliterated the complexities like adults, tell me about your rotten therapy. I’m a good listener. And I don’t charge.”

  “Nah. Some other time. It doesn’t matter anymore.”

  He’d seen her tears. “You might as well.” He lifted his chin at Zeke. “It’s gonna be a while til he gets to the bottom of that toy box.”

  “Understanding too? I was content with handsome and a world-class dick,” she said with a grin.

  “Fun-ny. Now spill your guts. I want to know everything about you,” he said, experiencing a mild apprehension at his last comment, having stepped over what had long been a forbidden line in any relationship. Excessive intimacy.

  She saw his infinitesimal withdrawal. “My guess is—neither one of us is good at spilling their guts. You’re charming, I’m outspoken, but when it comes right down to it...” Her voice trailed off.

  “No, I mean it.” She was worth stepping-over-the-line. “Tell me whatever you’re comfortable with, a little, a lot, or something in between.”

  “Okay, but only the power points because, truly, it’s all in the past. My father wasted a lot of money, but he was familiar with ordering people around, me included. I really missed my mom. I think he did too, not that he’d ever admit it. He wanted the therapists to convince me that a stable home was better than my mom’s irregular life.”

  “No luck?”

  “Nope. I was five when it started.”

  “Want me to go beat up the therapist?”

  She smiled. “I would have loved it then, now, not so much.”

  “But a little.”

  “Yeah. A little. For all the mind-fucks.” She shrugged faintly. “It took me a couple years before I learned to say, I understand. Thanks for the advice. I appreciate your support.” My insincerity pissed off everyone. That in itself was satisfying. You see I’m not so sweet after all. You’ll find out soon enough. Then, bam! Trouble in paradise.” Stretching up slightly, she kissed his jaw. “Thanks for listening.”

  “No problem. And in my world, Jilly-bean, you’re icing-on-the-cake, cherry-on-the-top-of-the sundae sweeter than sweet.”

  She grinned. “Jesus, pressure.”

  “Speaking of pressure,” he murmured, husky and low, “I know exactly where, how much and how long you like that kind of pressure. And just as soon as Zeke takes a nap, I’ll get rid of my brothers and show”--

  “Mommie! Car broke!”

  Sam woke up from his nap, ears spiking. Zeke was banging a metal race car on the side of the toy box, his little face screwed up in frustration.

  “I got this,” Jack said and reaching out, pulled the wheeled toy box closer. In short order, the car was running, Jack was showing Zeke how to operate the remote that controlled the car and Sam had dropped his head back on his paws.

  Resting on her elbows Jillian watched her son blossom under Jack’s attention, Zeke’s giggles and smiles warming her heart. Even his toddler demands were accepted with kindness and after having been raised by a father who believed in discipline, she was even more enamored by Jack’s easy-going disposition. Love me, love my child, was an old adage for a reason, she thought, basking in a rare, unspoiled pleasure.

  The doorbell suddenly broke the spell.

  “Christ, they’re early.” Coming to his feet, Jack lifted Zeke into his arms. “Want to go see who’s at the door. It’s okay, Sam,” he added, the dog instantly at his side, on full alert.

  “Me open door!” Zeke screamed. “Me! Me!”

  Shifting Zeke to one arm, he held out his hand to Jillian. “You coming with us, Mommie?”

  Chapter 38

  A few moments later, Jack lowered Zeke so he could reach the door handle. “Press down hard. There, that’s the way.”

  The latch released, Jack toed the door open, then swung it wide.

  “Hi guys.” Wade smile lit up the blue of his eyes. “Can you tell I’m impatient, excited”--

  “An hour early,” Jack said, drily.

  “Yeah, well, off shore accounts, shadow banking, phony companies. Try and keep me away. FYI, though,”—he waved an arm at the steel gate across the driveway—“you need a better entry code.” His brows flickered. “Just sayin’.”

  “Ray can set it up when he gets here.” In the laid back days after Jack’s return, Strawberry Haze had been a simple password for his frequent visitors. Not that his gate had been often closed. That would change. “Wade, you know Jillian. This is her son Zeke. He’s two and really smart, aren’t you?” Jack smiled at the little boy in his arms.

  Zeke nodded, his blond curls bouncing. “Me know yots and yots.”

  “Wade’s my brother,” Jack explained.

  “Me no have bruver.”

  Maybe someday. A thought that would have been anathema a week ago; having children had never been on his radar. Shaking off his sudden craziness, Jack turned to Wade. “Zeke likes that Elmo song you know. The one he sings on PBS,” he c
larified. Wade had been humming the song not long ago, thanks to his friendship with Alyssa Rose and her three-year-old who liked Sesame Street.

  Wade winked at Zeke. “I love that part about rainbows.”

  As Zeke began singing the chorus, Wade lifted him from Jack’s arms and before joining in murmured, “Ray said you’re making lunch. Feel like zapping one of your homemade pizzas?”

  “Sausage mushroom?”

  “What else?”

  Wade shot a glance at Sam who was glued to Jack’s side. “Is that dog growling?”

  “Sorry, you haven’t met.”

  “No shit,” Wade said, drily.

  Jack quickly brushed Sam’s head with his fingertips. “Sam this is Wade. Wade, Sam.”

  The low throaty growling stopped, friendly tail-wagging commenced; détente was reached.

  “Smart dog.”

  “Yeah, he damned near talks. Come on in, I’ll get us some lunch.”

  Jack took out two pizzas from the freezer. While the oven heated up, Jack made mac and cheese and ants on a log for Zeke. Wade entertained the toddler, Jillian set the table, stirred up chocolate milk for Zeke, and put the raisins on top of the peanut butter-filled celery sticks with a precision that made Jack smile. She wasn’t exactly a wild child; a pleasant change from his recent life. He had zero complaints.

  Ray and Chrissie walked in just as Jack was taking the pizzas out of the oven.

  “You’re welcome,” Ray said. “I changed your lame gate code. Remember that neighbor kid who followed you around like a puppy in middle school? His last name first, first name next, followed by the year he moved away, backwards.”

  “He was a good kid. Just needed a friend. How the hell did you remember the year?”

  “That was the year I was in love with my fifth grade math teacher, Mrs. Vicelli.” Ray grinned. “She was hot. Not as hot as you Chrissy,” he said, winking at his girlfriend. “But then no one is.” Chrissy was very beautiful, tall, supple, dark-haired with fair skin.

  Chrissy smiled. “Good save, dude.”

  “Okay, kids, we done?” Jack said. “Come meet Jillian and Zeke.”