Meghan counted the stack of books again to make sure her math was correct. When she hit twenty-six for the second time, she scribbled the number on a Post-it and stuck it to the box.

At this rate, it’d take hours to get through the whole pile.

She grumble-yawned and rubbed her face. The twins weren’t letting her get much sleep. Her parents had flown home to Boston last week, leaving her and Alex to figure it the fuck out. With an able assist from Carmen, of course.

She missed the luxury of having her mom around twenty-four seven, but it wasn’t fair to her dad.

From her little office tucked away behind the kitchen, she heard the sound of pots and pans and the occasional shout or boo from the family room where Alex was engrossed in whatever sports program his channel surfing had landed on.

All of a sudden, a loud, wailing cry came across the baby monitor. She jumped at the sound. The cry got louder and angrier. She bolted from the office as Alex and Carmen collided in the kitchen. The frantic sound of Zeus galloping down the stairs scared the shit out of her. The dog barely left the nursery when the kids were napping. Zeus ran straight to Alex and barked before turning and scrambling right back up the stairs.

Panic seized each of them. Aiden’s screaming cries were killing Meghan. She dashed for the steps with Alex and Carmen hot on her heels. She slowed at the top of the stairs to help Carmen, but Alex flew right past her.

What the hell was making her son scream bloody murder?

* * *

Alex was sure he was having a coronary episode when he burst into the nursery expecting to find something horrible. Zeus was sitting at Aiden’s crib. His boy was screaming so loud it’s a wonder anyone could think over the painful sound.

“Hey, little buddy,” he crooned when he leaned over the side of the crib. “What’s the matter?”

A tear leaked from Aiden’s eye, but at the sound of Alex’s voice, he instantly calmed, smiled, gurgled, and stuck his thumb in his mouth.

Perplexed, Alex mumbled, “What the hell was that all about?”

Then he heard Stevie’s pathetic whimpering squeak. Aiden instantly twisted his body in the direction of her crib. When he looked up, Meghan was already there lifting her from the crib.

“Oh my,” she murmured. “Someone is soaked.”

Carmen hurriedly began stripping the wet sheet off the crib. Alex scraped a hand through his hair and looked at Aiden again. The boy was content and somewhat placid. He looked at Meghan with confusion and questions rolling around in his head.

“He looks after deirfiúr,” she told him while changing Stevie. “Aiden doesn’t like it when she’s upset.”

“So he screams bloody murder and scares the shit out of everyone?”

His wife smiled and rolled her shoulder. “They’re very attuned to one another.”

“You looked after Sophia when she was little,” Carmen reminded him. “It’s what a brother does.”

She had a point.

He made an offhand suggestion. “Want to go for a walk after they eat? Why don’t we go check in on the Danes? I’m beginning to forget what they look like.”

Carmen’s indulgent chortle was a reminder that she’d known Calder Dane for a good long time.

“Smart man, your uncle.” The look she gave him was full of meaning. Touching her forehead, she said, “He knows in here that every day with his wife and son is special.” Then she put her hand over her heart. “But in here, he feels the magic and counts his blessings every second. They’ll never get this time again. What they have is a miracle. Don’t fault them for being wrapped up in each other and forgetting that they are not alone on the planet.”

Meghan looked teary when Carmen was finished.

Alex got the point she made. He admired Calder and was proud to call him uncle.

The tale of his bachelor uncle finding love in his fifties – a bit of matchmaking Alex was especially proud of – and blowing everyone’s mind with a late-in-life pregnancy was a reminder that life and the world were always in motion. Every dawn ushered in the gift of a new day, and you never knew what tomorrow would bring. When it was all special and singularly unique, why wouldn’t you focus entirely on that?

Carmen finished freshening Stevie’s crib, whispered something to his wife that made Meghan shake her head, and then gathered up the never-ending laundry and left them to it.

Leaning against Aiden’s crib, he stayed in the boy’s field of vision, and watched the routine taking place on the changing table. Meghan had a unique way of pouring love into every second. She inspired him with her huge heart and unfailing generosity. When she gave – even of herself – she gave it all. The memory of her cries of ecstasy when they made love last night sounded in his head. To him, she surrendered it all - everything heart, mind, and soul.

In their time together, she’d given him so much more than happiness. His auburn-haired Irish goddess brought him from the brink of pained nothingness, offered the redemption he sought, reawakened his spirit, and showed him every day and in every way, how to live a life of gratitude fueled by the thing powering the whole universe – love.

He added a new hashtag to the laughable list he kept in his head. #Double M rocks. Drae started the snarky, irreverent, and oftentimes inappropriate war of hashtags that flew around family and ended up everywhere. Texts, emails, conversations. It was all good.

Stevie’s happy giggle wrapped around his heart. Meghan kept up a constant stream of soft words and sounds with each baby. She showed him how to capture their attention by hovering close – directly in their eyesight. The smiles and happy faces she showed her children were reflected in their smiles and gurgles.

There was a lot of love in the air these days at the Valleja-Marquez villa.

Finished dressing their beautiful daughter, Meghan scooped her up and held her out for a visual inspection. Stevie’s gurgling giggle and wiggling legs were cute as hell. She had on a pastel onesie with a little ruffled skirt thing going on. It was pretty clear to everyone that Meghan intended to influence Stevie’s take on style with her personal preference for dresses and bare legs as opposed to jeans and sweats, all the time.

“Look, sweetie! There’s Daddy! Show him your pretty outfit.”

Stevie cooed and laughed on cue, much to her mother’s happy delight.

“Here,” she said. Handing Stevie off, she motioned to Aiden. “Robert Plant over there needs a refresh as well. You take her, and I’ll show Mr. Lung Power a whole lotta love plus change his diaper.”

He laughed. Robert Plant. Good one! He had to remember to share that with Parker and Finn. Maybe rub their noses in it a little bit.

Finn. Hmph. He really should talk to his wife about the situation between her brother and Remington.

Things were happening on the Domineau front. She’d narrowed down a list of names and worked something out with Cam regarding finding the fuckers who were responsible for the agony Remy endured. They were waiting on Finn to come back with the confirmation they needed before this thing went any further.

Conflicted over precisely how to compartmentalize his obligations in this matter, he weighed Remy’s privacy against the intransigent reality that Meghan’s brother was more than just a little bit involved. He knew this was a sooner rather than later situation and debated how to broach the subject.

He was lost in thought and snoodling his baby daughter at the same time when his wife started singing and dancing with their laughing son in her arms.

Why she chose K.C. and the Sunshine Band’s classic, “That’s the Way I Like It” was a mystery, but she was having a shit ton of fun breaking out some very 70’s disco moves spiced up with some bumps and grinds.

He joined in, and they danced around the nursery swinging the twins as props. Everyone was laughing, and it hit him like a hockey puck to the face that breaking out with a spontaneous disco boogie was what family memories were made of.

Flashes of images from his own childhood and the sometimes ridiculous things he and his family did crowd his mind. With those memories as subtext, he knew without a doubt that when it came to fun and goofy silliness, he and Meghan were going to set a new standard.

With their laughter filling the air, the did a mom and dad conga line all the way from the nursery and along the second-floor hallway, past abuelita’s portrait, and ending with some extra oomph to their antics as they descended the main staircase.

Meghan happily declared, “It’s feeding time! Signal the chuck wagon.”

Carmen’s amused laugh rang out from the big kitchen and Zeus came running to see what her humans were up to.

He didn’t give a rat’s ass at the moment about anything else except this.

Whatever fucked-up shit was disturbing his sense of order had to sit the fuck down and shut the fuck up for now. He recognized that was a lot of fucks to cram in one thought, but he didn’t fucking care.

At long last, he got it. Alex finally understood what living in the moment meant. But the awareness came with another undeniable truth.

He couldn’t change the past any more than he could predict the future.

In the blink of an eye, his long-waged battle in the name of protection for total control over everyone and everything faded from an all-out war to a tiny speck of stubborn resistance.

They had a life to live and more babies to make. At the end of the day, it all came down to one thing – love. He didn’t want any of the people who had space in his heart to reach the end of their time on earth and wish they’d been loved more.

And he didn’t want to have any regrets about his not having loved enough.

They were beyond lucky – all of them. By growing and changing, Family Justice showed it was a living thing and not just a play on words or a nice thought.

He had no doubt that there’d be plenty of chances in the years ahead to use his leadership superpower for good. It was a given that the extended family taking root in the red Arizona dirt would face challenges along the way. They’d need his firm hand and cool head to keep the S.S. Justice afloat and steady.

As he settled his son and daughter in their seats and helped Meghan and Carmen prepare for feeding time, Alex soaked up as much joy as he could.

It was summer, the family was having a blast, and his business was kicking ass and taking names. What else mattered?

Dropping kisses on everyone’s head, he said a quick, “Love you big time,” and then got down to the business of being daddy.

* * *

“Ball,” Remy yelled.

“Fuck you,” Jace hollered before tossing another baseball at the catcher’s mitt Finn was holding.

“I believe that was a strike, madam umpire,” her boyfriend shouted.

She grabbed her crotch and produced a halfway decent spit that made Jace grunt with disbelief and throw his arms in the air.

“Are you serious?” he bellowed. “C’mon. Cut me a break.”

Crossing her arms and delivering a withering scowl, she answered Jace at the top of her lungs.

“Do you want to catch a break or win?”

She saw Finn’s body ripple with what she assumed was a snarky chuckle.

Stepping around the Team Justice catcher, she kicked a dirtball and marched toward the pitching mound. It was her duty as an umpire slash manager to give the players as much shit as humanly possible.

How else were they going to win? Not by being a squad of wusses and whiners, that’s for damn sure.

“There’s no crying in baseball, Delacroix,” she barked. “So I suggest you grow a pair and get the fucking ball over the plate in the strike zone instead of questioning every call. And what the hell is this get-up you’re wearing?”

She pointed at his outfit and looked him up and down with a pitying look.

“What?” her cousin sarcastically drawled. “It’s hot. What was I supposed to wear?”

“Well, a tacky Hawaiian shirt from the swap meet and shorts with way too many pockets is not appropriate baseball attire. You look like a tourist catching his first American baseball game.”

He laughed in her face – because she let him.

“Dude.” She heard Finn snicker as he joined the pitcher’s mound conference. “She’s right. I can’t believe Sophie lets you out dressed like that.”

Jace cupped a hand to his ear and jeered. “What was that you said? You want to gag on my dick? Is that an American custom?”

Finn tossed his catcher’s mitt on the ground and started comically hopping with his fists up like a boxer. “Marquess of Queensbury rules if you please,” he taunted while Jace shook his head and sighed.

Wiping the sweat from his brow with the sleeve of his loud print shirt, Jace looked at her and made a face. “Can’t you do something about him?”

She blushed for no reason. Maybe because doing something about Finn involved a daily inner battle that just barely stopped her from … from what? Having sex with him?

Her predicament would be a whole lot simpler if not for the fact that since her messy confessional breakdown, he’d been sharing a bed with her every night.

Platonically.

She inwardly grumbled at the word she was starting to hate and kicked herself for being a coward.

Finn tossed off a couple of playful slaps at Jace’s head and continued to hop like a demented kangaroo. “Don’t you talk to my girlfriend like that.”

That was all it took for her cousin to throw down his glove and assume an equally as pitiful boxing stance pulled from another century. All each of them needed was a curly mustache with some slicked back hair, and they’d be camera ready for a boxing match promotion picture.

While her two favorite dipshidiots hurled old-school taunts, waved their arms, and hopped, she sat down with a dramatic, exasperated groan and flopped onto her back.

With all their messing around and constant yuks interfering with her attempts at a training camp, there was no way they could win the game looming up ahead. A challenge match with Alex and Parker’s nemesis, the Chixie Dicks, that got closer every day.

She hoped Heather was having an easier time wrangling Brody, Roman, and Rafe. Meghan had Parker and Alex under control. Calder would just show up, and after some arm wringing, Barry agreed to play with the team. Turned out, he was a shortstop in college with a team that made it to the championship.

“Hey! Watch it,” Finn shouted.

Jace struck out with a lazy jab. “What’s the matter? Did I mess up your hair?”

Remy sat, drew her knees up, and hugged her legs while she watched the overgrown boys prove their manhood in a comical charade that deserved preserving. She reached into a pocket, pulled out her phone, and quickly snapped a couple of candid, giggle-worthy shots. Maybe she’d do a pen and ink drawing from the prints.

She watched them with her artist’s eye and saw things she didn’t normally notice. The sunshine bounced off Jace’s sunglasses in an interesting way, and each time they hopped with flat-footed stomps, plumes of dust from the parched ground billowed around their feet.

Her eyes swung to Finn. His t-shirt stretched tight across his broad shoulders. His arms with their ridiculously perfect muscles posed like a boxer cast an interesting shadow on the ground.

She studied his moving silhouette and glanced at him every so often. Her eyes remained glued to his midsection when Jace managed to land a half-assed punch to the gut.

Finn hurled insults and rubbed his belly. She studied his hand and movements. When he unexpectedly grabbed his crotch the same way she had done but with an added hip thrust, her eyes widened with interest.

Hurriedly looking away, she had to clear her throat and struggle to her feet to stop her wayward thoughts.

Her increasingly erotic thoughts.

About Finn.

And her.

Doing it.

Her immediate reaction was to cringe. She hated the expression and didn’t want to do Finn. Maybe at one time, yeah. I mean, come on. Look at him. What female with a pulse didn’t want to sample a taste of the Irish?

But she’d had her fair share of doing it and wasn’t interested in emotionless, mechanical, by the numbers fornication.

Where Finn was concerned, she’d been entertaining much more meaningful scenarios. Once, twice, or maybe dozens of times, she’d fancied the term making love to describe where her imaginary passions led.

The days of finding men that she could weaken with sex and then walk away from were long gone. Been there, done that because as a necessary evil, angry revenge sex to block the horror of her rape was quite effective. When you add a tendency to drink way over her limit and couple that with her weird ability to win card games, the recipe for disaster was so obvious even she eventually saw it.

Shaken by her foolishness, she extricated herself from all entanglements, packed up, and moved on. Since then, she’d been celibate and happier for it. That was four years ago. Except for a couple of alcohol-infused poker games that didn’t earn her any friends, she’d stuck to her guns. She was determined not to be that girl. The one with the boo-hoo story who flew beneath a victim’s flag.

Fuck that shit. She was better than that. And until a smug, cocky Irishman who refused to take her crap came along, she was perfectly happy taking care of her needs minus the man complication.

“Babe,” Finn barked.

She shook her head and glanced up. By the look of his expression, he must have called her name a couple of times.

“Planet Earth to Remy. Come in.”

“Sorry. What’s up?”

Finn flipped his sunglasses onto his head and studied her face. “Where were you?”

Shrugging, she pushed off the ground and dusted off her butt as she stood. “Just thinking. You know. About stuff.”

She saw the concern in his eyes when he asked if she was okay. Remy wanted to say no. She wanted to sit on his lap again and curl into his chest.

She wanted Finn to make her world right again.

He knew she deflected his concern but never reacted. He never made her feel bad or feel like she was less. And he wouldn’t let her use the words broken or damaged to describe herself anymore.

It was the part where she allowed him to have any say at all that mattered most.

He was changing her. The fear invaded her mind less and less. His honest patience and unwavering support were breaking her down bit by bit.

But she still had the same issues.

It was getting old.

“Jace has to run along. He and Sophie are taking the baby for a checkup.”

It made her happy to see her cousin find his life and even happier that it included a lady like Sophie Marquez. And Teo. He was a big part of their relationship.

He took his baseball cap off and swiped a hand across his forehead. “Let’s get out of the sun.”

She grabbed a baseball off the ground and caught up with him at the back of his truck. The engine was running, and he was loading baseball equipment into the back.

“Everything okay?”

He just looked at her but didn’t give anything away.

“Finn? Is something wrong?”

“No. Everything’s fine. Get in the truck and cool off.”

She eyed him with suspicion but took advantage of the opportunity to sit in the air conditioning.

When he swung into the driver’s seat, she could tell right away that something was up.

“Whatever it is, just tell me.” Remy hadn’t meant to use her snippy tone, but that was how she sounded.

He looked at her long and hard before taking her hand. “Domineau has a virtual perp lineup.”

Her hand jerked, but he held tight.

“She wants you to look it over.”

It felt like her head was too heavy to hold, so she let her chin drop before groaning her dismay. “Oh, god.”

Finn held her hands with both of his. He lifted it to his mouth, and when he kissed it, she could see and feel the trembling.

“A couple of minutes, honey. And I’ll be with you. No sweat. We look at some pictures and offer feedback. That’s all this is, okay?”

The urge to run seized her. She needed to feel her legs pumping out a punishing rhythm until she couldn’t take another step.

“Wh-when?” she stammered. Her heart was beating so fast, she got worried.

Finn kissed her hand again and said, “Sweetie ... look at me.”

She looked at him for less than a second before glancing away.

“You’re not alone anymore, Remy. There’s a serious force queuing up at your back. All you have to do is look at some pictures. That’s it.”

There was no escape, and she knew it. All the wasted years, the anger, and pain – all of it created havoc inside. She sucked in some air. Her lungs filled. The same old, same old kicked in, and she felt the wall closing around her.

And then Finn’s hand nearly crushed hers. Odd sensations that shook her up caught Remy’s attention. A pulse in her wrist worked its way up her arm and into her neck. Her breath caught. She heard Finn’s deep inhale – it felt as though he was breathing for both of them.

In her mind, Remy imagined Finn sharing his strength with her. The prickling throb where their hands joined woke something deep inside her, and her emotion backbone grew stronger by the second.

Righteous anger filled her thoughts. She’d become a casualty of evil. The violation of her body left her vulnerable. Those fucking assholes stomped on her spirit and dealt a mortal blow to her sense of worth.

Courage, not very robust but stronger than usual, built a line of defense around her heart.

Fuck them. She’d been their victim long enough. They deserved what they got.

Remy’s eyes lifted to Finn’s, and she nodded.

He nodded in return. Something dark and a little menacing flared in his eyes. She understood what her acceptance of the Justice involvement meant in real world terms. Until this second, though, she saw Finn as an outsider – a messenger and nothing more. His eyes told her he was deeply involved.

“All right. I’ll do it. But you can’t let go, okay?”

“Don’t be afraid,” he murmured.

She offered one last truth bomb. “I’m only afraid of what happens once the fear turns to anger. Lots of fucked-up angry shit trapped in my head.”

“Let it go, babe. It’s over. We’ll get you justice; don’t worry about that. From here on out, you don’t worry about them. Time for you to live your life. Not the life their vile behavior forced on you.”

“You make it sound so easy.”

Finn’s cocky arrogance gave his smirk an extra dollop of sarcasm. There needed to be a permanent display of smirks. Framed pictures on the wall in a hallway. All the main Justice guys had picture perfect smirks.

“It is easy, honey. Your battle ended when you let me in. The war is over; they just don’t know it yet. Let justice be served. Now it’s their turn to live with all the shit that’s held you back. Forced you down.”

Remy surprised herself when she blurted something out that reduced it all to one sentence.

“I want them to hurt, Finn. I want them to know what it’s like to wake up every morning and remember.”

His snicker sounded wrathful and full of fury. “Darlin’, Domineau said it best. Karma – she’s a fucking bitch.”

Worry and a gazillion other things kept her on the outside looking in where her comfort zone was concerned, but she felt in her gut that this was the moment. Turning back or pretending she was fine and dandy were no longer options.

She gave a rough snort. Derision rode her response hard. “They have to pay for what they did.”

“Honey,” Finn drawled. He put the truck in gear and started driving. “Domineau is looking forward to it.”

“Fear, pain, and maximum humiliation.”

“Consider it done.”

He laughed in a way that left Remy with no doubt what he was thinking. Her hot-as-fuck boyfriend and some heavy-hitters not only had her back, but they were also going to avenge her. The retribution they extracted was more than payback, more than revenge.

It was, in a word, justice.

* * *

Angie squawked with annoyed aggravation when the handle of a heavy bag she lugged from the car ripped and sent her groceries tumbling to the ground. Cans rolled away, and dammit if the plastic container from the bakery that was full of chocolate macaroons opened on impact and spilled.

Grumbling, “Just great,” she stepped around the mess and continued into the house from the garage. There were two pints of ice cream in another bag that would be soup if she didn’t get them in the freezer right away.

It took a good fifteen to twenty minutes to unload the car, put stuff away, and get herself situated before she started to cool off and relax.

Exhausted after a dozen errands and a run through the grocery store, she ignored the suggested serving size for the macaroons and put a handful on a plate. Filling a glass of ice water large enough to take a bath in, she juggled her snack along with a pile of mail and carried it into the family room where she set everything on the coffee table.

Flipping the TV on, she checked the weather channel to see if they’d set another record high from today’s heat. No record but they were in the running for number of consecutive days where the temperature was over one hundred.

She destroyed the first macaroon in two bites. The soft, chewy cookie was mostly sugar. Angie didn’t care that this month’s pregnancy craving was devoid of nutritional content. The baby had definite tastes and who was she to deny the little tyke?

“Catalog, catalog, flyer, magazine,” she mumbled. “This is how we keep the recycling centers busy.”

The macaroon indulgence continued while she weeded through a pile of crap. On the floor by her feet, she tossed all the stuff that went straight to recycling. Another pile was destined for a paper shredder. She dropped the periodicals and sales flyers that she’d go through later next to her on the sofa.

A small handwritten envelope with embossed hearts contained an invitation to Casa de Cameron for Lacey’s birthday. Cake and ice cream with the family. She quickly added the date to her calendar app.

A big postcard with the variety show announcement brought a smile. She’d put it on the fridge under a magnet.

There were a couple of household bills that made her growl. She kept signing up for paperless billing, and for the life of her, she couldn’t figure out why it was so damn difficult.

She finished the last macaroon as the pile dwindled to nothing. The recycling and shredder piles got shoved to the end of the sofa. The digital display on the cable box told her the time. Parker wouldn’t be home for hours, so she could afford to take it easy and laze around for a bit.

When she realized she was unconsciously rubbing her belly, a happy smile tugged at her lips. Sometimes, the internet could be a fun time. There were so many sites and blogs for pregnant moms that it was impossible to check them all out. One in particular, though, had proven most amusing.

It was a reverse calendar that figured conception date based on actual birthday. The baby wasn’t here yet, so she was asking for the calculator to be clairvoyant but that didn’t stop her from having a ball.

First, she entered her sibling’s birthdays and laughed when dates for parental nooky sessions were revealed. Then she did Parker’s and flushed with embarrassment thinking about Uncle Matt and Aunt Wendy having down and dirty sex on or around the eleventh to the seventeenth of August.

Finally, after using nearly every birthdate she knew, it was time to put in the stats of baby Sullivan.

The due date they gave her was December eighteenth, so she scrolled through the calendars to enter the information.

She sort of forced Parker’s hand before their marriage and stopped all birth control because she just wanted to move things along and get to the main event. They dodged the conception bullet in the run-up to the wedding, and she understood that the calculator was a machine, but she secretly hoped the date she got pregnant was after she became Mrs. Parker Sullivan.

Remembering a moment of hesitation when she’d rolled her eyes at how foolish she was being, Angie chuckled in real time.

Sometimes, she could be a real baby.

It was all good, though, because like a fortuneteller, the app calculated March twenty-seventh as the date of conception. That meant their baby was made after the wedding and most likely during their naked, debauched honeymoon.

She smiled, bit her lip, and shuddered at the same time as thinking about their over-the-top escapades on a private island surrounded by blue water, white sand beaches, and with the hidden lagoon.

There were a lot of sexy memories from that time, and she loved that there was more than a real possibility that their baby was conceived then too.

An unforced memory made Angie tremble. Parker with a whip in his hand circling her while she was tied spread eagle and waiting. It didn’t dawn on her until some time later that he turned her toward the ocean when he tied her to a wood archway specifically so she could see the ocean. He was a clever devil, her husband. Since that day, she couldn’t see images of or think about the blue ocean without remembering that eye-opening scene.

Was it cool that the baby was a result of those scorching hot and sexy days? Fuck yeah, it was.

They didn’t want to know the sex of the baby. Parker thought that especially with the first one, he preferred the mystery reveal at the end.

He was so cute.

She didn’t need any test to tell her what she already knew. The babe growing inside her was a girl.

And why was she so sure?

Because that was what her husband secretly hoped for.

Angie had always loved Parker Sullivan. She’d loved him from the cradle. She’d loved him as a precocious schoolgirl. She’d loved as a teenager – maybe too much. Then she’d loved him in a different way once she became an adult.

Even when their relationship seemed dead in the water and abandoned, she’d loved him.

A long, strange journey of ups, downs, sidetracks, and missteps brought them to today. She wasn’t exaggerating by saying she’d loved him every day of her life.

It hadn’t been easy and was at times messy and painful. Through it all was the love and Parker’s unyielding determination.

She thought about his Angie box filled with mementoes and pictures that spanned her entire life.

He’d been direct and blunt about his needs and wants. He wanted her. Period. And then he wanted the big show. All of it. Ring, wedding, honeymoon – even their house was a manifestation of Parker’s will.

She giggled because it was true – Parker always got what he wanted. And he wanted a baby girl with eyes like hers.

So … a girl.

Adding a new note to her phone, she left a reminder to start a list of baby names. Never too early to start.

Brushing her hands of crumbs, she went back to the mail sorting. The coupons she left on the coffee table for a closer look when she had time.

Another postcard reminder – this one from Parker’s dentist. Time for a check-up.

A large manila envelope was the last thing in the pile. A return address sticker offered no clues. Ripping the envelope open, she pulled out a magazine.

Keyhole.

Never heard of it. Angie looked at the manila envelope again. The address had been handwritten. It was addressed to her. Just to her.

She fanned the pages, and the magazine opened on one that was dog-eared. A two-page spread called Bullet Storage.

This whole thing struck her as very odd. Why would someone send her a weird magazine with no note?

Bullet Storage appeared to be nothing but gossip, random predictions, and threats. She wasn’t interested and was about to chuck the stupid glossy aside when she noticed a circle of blue pen around one of the items.

Secrets and lies have passports

Stay tuned: The hotshot legal asshole with an eye for politics who recently married a childhood sweetheart [ SIDE NOTE: she was the child. Him? Not so much] has a shock coming if he believes his bride has a squeaky-clean past. He can kiss that judgeship and hopes of a Senate run gooooood-bye. We’ve seen evidence of sex trafficking by an ex and bribing public officials. Enjoy the summer because not just winter is coming.

What the fuck was this? She looked at the envelope again.

Angie jumped up and almost went crashing face first to the coffee table when the sudden rise made her head spin.

Who would send her this? Was she supposed to think the blurb was about her and Parker?

Oh, my god. A rumor this vicious had teeth. It didn’t matter anymore what was true and what was bullshit. Social media could make almost anything explode and go viral.

Panic seized hold and shook her. She began frantically pacing to lessen the building anxiety.

What should she do?

Her first thought was for her safety and that of her baby. She ran through the downstairs rooms making sure every window and door was locked.

Angie didn’t view her reaction as paranoid. She had no idea if she was being watched but wasn’t taking chances.

Who the hell would want to start shit with her and Parker? It didn’t make sense. She supposed there was always the possibility that the blind item had nothing to do with them. But whoever circled the tidbit and mailed it to her home thought it did – or why else send it?

She pressed both hands against her belly when the macaroons tumbled in her stomach.

After an attempt to swallow, she ran and prayed she made it to the bathroom before she puked.

That was where Parker found her a couple of hours later – on the floor in the fetal position after a horrendous vomit-a-thon.

He carried her to their bed and made her comfortable. After a short pause while he ditched the business suit in favor of jeans, she felt a little better and sat up. She stared at her hands lying limp on top of the blanket. The sparkle coming from her engagement ring was a reminder of what was at stake.

When he’d changed and made her some weak tea to sip, he sat next to her on the bed and asked how long she’d been throwing up.

It was a reasonable question. She was pregnant and throwing up – for her, at least – was part of the deal.

But that was not what set her off.

She raised her eyes to his and grimaced.

“I think we have a problem,” she murmured.

The sheer panic on his face made her quickly add, “The baby is fine. I’m fine. It’s not about that.”

He looked at her long and hard. “Then what’s going on, angel?”

“I think we’d better call my brother.”

“Why?”

“We’re going to need his help.”

Parker frowned. She wasn’t making sense and was probably driving him nuts.

“There’s a magazine in the living room. Coffee table. Bring it here.”

He retrieved it and handed it to her in under a minute. She opened it to the dog-eared page, held it up, and pointed at the circled item.

“You’d better read this.”

He started out loud but after the opening subject line, she asked him not to narrate. She didn’t want to deal with the words again.

“What the fuck is this?” he growled.

“Someone sent it to me. My name is on the envelope. That blind item was circled and the page dog-eared. Those words have nothing to do with the truth, but someone out there thinks it’s talking about us. Why the hell else would anyone bother to mail it?”

Angie gave him credit. He didn’t hesitate at all. “I’ll call Alex. You’re right. Whatever this is, we’re going to need the help of Justice.”

He grabbed his phone and initiated the call. While it connected, he looked at her.

“I love you, Angie Sullivan. I know you’ll worry anyway but please try not to.”

She thought she might cry and held her hand out. He took it right away and sat next to her.

She heard her brother’s booming voice answer the call and then Parker spoke.

“Hey, Alex? We have a problem.”

* * *

Finn was damn fucking proud of Remy. She handled the meeting with Domineau like a boss.

Was she nervous, shaking, pale, and upset?

Yes to all those things.

But his lady had balls.

Big ’uns.

Made of tungsten carbide.

And Domineau thought so too if he was reading her half correctly.

They were at the end of their meeting in the secure room at Justice. Alex firmly insisted that nothing at all be discussed – in bold caps and underlined – outside the room. He could tell that Remy came close to losing it after learning about the mandatory off record security.

“What happens now?” Remy asked.

Curious how she responded, Finn studied Domineau. He sensed a subtle change in her. A personal change that was none of his business but made him wonder nonetheless.

She seemed lighter somehow. Less scary. He wondered if that was for Remy’s benefit until his Y chromosome sensibilities noticed she was doing something different with her hair. Instead of a slicked back, tightly secured helmet of nondescript hair, she’d gathered it into a softer, more feminine updo.

He approved if anyone wanted his opinion.

Oh, wait. And something else. Earrings. Nothing gaudy or big – just small, discreet silver things.

Domineau was putting away the connected laptops she’d used to show Remy a series of lineup-style headshots. He didn’t get the sense that she wasn’t going to answer or that she was stalling. She was so straight arrow at times that it was off-putting. He couldn’t imagine her going off half cocked or being emotional about much of anything.

This was just the way she was.

She sat on the table a couple of feet from Remy and put her foot on a chair. It was a masculine pose that demonstrated authority. In a way, it was a body language power play.

Finn snickered. How he sometimes viewed things was courtesy of his detective father and the last year spent hanging out with a bunch of security professionals.

“Time doesn’t wait, Remy. Things are already in motion.”

“Then what was this about?”

He heard a whole slew of emotions in Remy’s snarled question. Finn put his hand on her back, so she’d know he was right there.

“This was confirmation. There are some things you should know. First, the C.O. is dead.”

“Please tell me he didn’t go out with a posthumous purple heart.”

Domineau’s smirk returned the lady to scary-ville. He really didn’t want to ever get on her bad side.

She breathed deep and threw her arms wide. “Ah, smell that? It’s called Eau de Last Laugh. He bought the farm doing one ten on PCH in California. Jacked up on Molly with his nineteen-year-old boyfriend in the car while the wife and kids went to Disneyland, they crashed and burned in spectacular fashion. Made the local news. I can get the news story for you if you want to see it.”

Remy shook her head and waved off the offer.

“Okay. Moving on,” Domineau quipped. “So, perp number one, dead. Perp number two, a fellow pilot, well, he’s doing eight to ten for brandishing a weapon and shooting up a trash can at an AA meeting. The group leader took some shrapnel in the leg which accounts for the severity of the sentence.”

“Where’s he serving time?”

Finn gave Remy an admiring nod and thumbs up. Good question. Hopefully, they threw his ass someplace where he’d get a taste of being some guy’s prison bitch.

Domineau indicated a particularly notorious penitentiary that was no country club.

“And that leaves us with perp number three. The blood for money type with expensive tastes. Him we can take down.”

He glanced at Remy’s face. She was intently listening.

The tension in the room rose.

And then Domineau stood. “And that’s the end of it. Now go home, drink all the alcohol.”

She turned to him and pointedly growled, “Did you hear me, Finn? ALL the alcohol.” Domineau turned back to Remy and softened her tone. “And then tomorrow when you wake up and feel like absolute dog shit – not just regular dog shit. I’m talking the shit after scarfing down Chinese leftovers – I want you to remember that I’ve got this. It’s time for you to figure out who Remington Bisset is without all that other noise. Do you understand what I’m saying?”

The hands down winner of 2017’s Miss Tungsten pageant, from Bendover, Arizona, the biggest balled badass of them all stood and hugged the Amazon Queen.

“Now get out of here,” Domineau barked. “I hate you two.”

“Why?” Remy laughed. “What did we do?”

Domineau waved dismissively. “Oh, pfft. You didn’t do anything. It’s young love. Gah! You make me sick.” She pointed at the door and turned to wink at him.

Finn smiled and mouthed, “Thank you,” as she demanded they get out.

Remy made it to the door first and gave a hearty pull. The door didn’t budge.

“I think we’re locked in,” Remy said.

“Oh, shit!” Domineau practically fell over laughing as she attacked the control pad that released the door locks and reset the system.

As they left, they could hear the woman’s caterwauling laughter almost the whole way to the parking lot.

Remy didn’t say anything when they climbed into his truck. It didn’t feel like she was blocking him out. It felt more like her being blown away.

They were at the Justice security gate when she perked up. When he steered away from the family road that’d take them to her apartment, she sat up straight.

“Where are we going? My place is that way.”

“We’re going to stop at Nora’s and enjoy some real Italian. Then I’m taking you home with me. FiFi misses you. She doesn’t like when I sleep at your place.”

He expected salty and put out. What he got was an, “Oh,” followed by a sigh and a, “Cool. I love Italian.”

Hmph. That was easy.

“Oh, but wait,” she whined. “I don’t have a change of clothes, and I’m all yucky from baseball.”

He let out the breath he was holding. Whew! That was it? A shower and some clean clothes?

“No problem, babe. I have what you need.”

She gave a small gasp and looked at him. The fire he saw more and more frequently was there in her gaze and plain to see.

Ignoring the innuendo, he played it straight and innocent.

“News flash. My place has a shower. And a washer and dryer.”

She said, “Oh,” and he added one more thing.

“And a closet. Where you should start keeping some stuff.”

He didn’t qualify what stuff entailed. That wasn’t the point. The point was that they were more than mere friends who happened to spend time together.

He let her connect the dots. It was up to her when their status changed.

So far, they’d covered antagonist, friend adjacent, friend, relationship adjacent, almost relationship, and now involved and together although no sleeping in the Biblical sense.

He was feeling good about the future, though. This was real progress.

The variety show was in a couple of weeks – Labor Day weekend. Still time to talk her into the Sonny and Cher act.

And maybe he’d convince her to play the piano. She said she’d been quite good. It would be awesome if the group activity gave her the duck and cover she needed to reconnect with something she enjoyed.

Finn was feeling pretty great. Yep. Things were looking good.