Chapter 37

Having slept very little on the plane—guilt did that to you—Justice drove her Jeep up the winding hill to the Mantua Home. The L-shaped mansion sat atop the highest hill on campus. It overlooked the entire Mantua Academy.

Justice swung around the stone fountain and parked.

She got out of her car. Stretched. Her side still hurt. But not as badly. The Mantua Home. Just home. Special not because it had thirty thousand square feet, or mullion- and tracery-arched windows, or any of the historical stone etchings, but because of the people. And the memories.

A pit of doubt rooted in her throat. Something had changed. In some way, it hurt worse than any prior betrayal. It had taken her a long time to find trust again after what her father had done.

Gracie. Dada. Tony. Bridget.

One of them had given Walid the ability to track her. One of them had almost gotten her killed.

Above the house, the last blush of departing sun winked away. The lights along her home’s exterior popped to life, as did the lights along the cobbled driveway. The air smelled of spring, freshly turned earth and the bright perfume of the early-flowering hawthorn that dotted the extensive and expert landscaping.

That smell brought sharply to mind spring jackets and childhood memories. Testing boundaries and getting in trouble. How many times had Momma warned her, “Justice, there are some lines you cannot cross”?

She’d crossed those lines. Repeatedly. And paid the price. She’d never had a problem facing the consequences for her actions. But now it involved more than her.

Sandesh knew and suspected things he shouldn’t. And she’d pay her price for that, but she’d protect his memories.

She took the front steps, thick slabs of red stone, two at a time. Pushing open one of the exotic front doors, she stepped into the grand foyer. This opulent expanse held as many memories for her as the always-present fresh flowers on the pedestal table and the Gone with the Wind-style staircase.

She closed the door.

Home. But not safe. Who was the traitor? She tossed the question aside as the comforting noise of her big family enveloped her. It was never quiet here.

Upstairs, two girls argued. The sound echoed down the wide hall and mixed with the training session in the gym to her right. She smiled. Only her family would put a gym, not a library or a sitting room, off the entryway.

The explosive grunts and forceful “hiyuhs” reverberated through the open gym doors.

As she strode past, she looked inside. Bridget was training. When she saw Justice, she waved her to come over.

Traitor?

She probably wanted to grill Justice on the mission. By now, they must all know. With Walid still out there and a new mission looming for her unit, Momma had had no choice but to come clean. Well, partly. They’d know about her failure. Know how she’d snuck out behind their backs. Know how she’d had to rely on someone who wasn’t family. And that now they all needed to band together to form a new plan. But not the whole truth.

She kept walking.

She felt grimy and used up and pissed off and sad to her soul. She walked purposefully toward the end of the long, ornately decorated corridor, past the sunken library, and toward the elevators.

“Justice?” Tony popped out of the arched, open doorway that led into the library. She jumped.

He grabbed her, hugged her. He held her tight enough to crack ribs. He smelled like Tony. Like celery juice and ginger. Could he have told Walid where to find her in Syria? Her heart shrieked denial. Not Tony. Not him.

“Justice. I thought…” He broke off. A large, disbelieving smile cracked half his face. Damn, some orthodontist had gotten so carried away with Tony’s braces. She doubted even in Hollywood you could find a better smile. No need to tell him that. She squirmed free.

“Nice smile, Tone.” She pushed at his shoulder. “You could actually double as a Muppet.”

He opened and closed his mouth in exaggerated delight. Like a Muppet. Tony. Not easy to offend.

“So funny, J. Now tell me what the fuck happened? Forget shutting us out or lying to your unit. You don’t do recon anymore? You pop into Jordan and attack the Brothers like you were taking down a massage parlor in the middle of nowhere?”

Sheesh. Even when he wasn’t on a mission, he critiqued her. And she hated lying. But until she knew who had betrayed her, she had to keep the truth from all her siblings. Even the one she trusted the most. She went with the story Momma and she had concocted. “I was sent to do recon. I went rogue. I saw an opportunity and took it.”

He raised an eyebrow—disbelief or something else? He lifted his shoulders, spread his hands wide like someone describing the big fish that got away. “You left one brother alive. That fucking sadistic, crazy-as-shit one. Y’know we gotta go after that fucker now, right?”

Gawd. It sounded so much worse when summarized with curses, hand gestures, and South Philly. “Yeah. Well, at least he wasn’t the smart one. Any thoughts on how to get him in Mexico?”

He jerked back as if she’d physically hit him. “You mean other than the detailed plan I laid out to Momma about getting the Brothers separately? The plan I put in a heartfelt letter and sent her before you even left?”

He glared. “Did Momma even tell you?”

Oh. Fuck. Tony was so sensitive about what he saw as the family ignoring his opinions.

She hadn’t seen it, but she really didn’t want to get into it with him. “It was my mission. I said all along we had to take them out together to keep one from alerting the other.”

“Yeah. Well, that worked out great.”

“I know, Tony. I was there. And so was Sandesh. And right now, I have to talk to Momma about him.” She ran a hand through her grimy hair and a deep breath through her agitation. “Sorry. I’ll catch you later. Okay?”

His eyes became suspicious. Or hurt. “You really like this guy?”

She looked away, shook her head. “Not really.”

Without meeting his eyes—no need to see if her lie had landed or missed the mark—she continued down the long hallway and turned right.

Once out of his line of sight, she exhaled and leaned her shoulder against the wall by the elevator. At this time of day, Momma would be home and in her office. She slammed the up arrow.

She wasn’t going up.

The elevator dinged. Opened. She stepped inside. Four yellow, round buttons indicated there were three floors and one basement level. Not exactly accurate. There were two other floors. The doors slid shut.

She lifted her wrist above the number pad. Nothing happened. Oh. Right. That would take some getting used to. She’d inserted a new microchip on the plane. She lifted her other wrist. The one that didn’t have a scab on it.

There was a beep of recognition. Yes. Welcome back to elevator-X. “Subfloor 4B.”

The smooth feminine automation responded, “Access is not operational. Two unauthorized personnel remain on this level. Please enter via another route.”

Oh. Hell no. “Override.”

“Wait for verification.”

She did.

“Override accepted. You have been processed and cleared for subfloor 4B. No cameras, cell phones, or unauthorized electronics.”

She braced her feet wide. The waist-high handholds were a deep temptation, but it had been a challenge since childhood not to hold on. The elevator intoned, “Proceeding.”

She took a deep breath. The elevator plunged. Her stomach slapped into her esophagus along with her heart. She clenched her teeth. Sheesh. No matter how many times she prepared for it, the violence of this drop made her stomach twist.

After the sinking free fall, the elevator slid to a weighted stop. Her legs buckled, and she locked her knees into place. The elevator intoned, “Subfloor 4B. Welcome, you are being monitored. Entering unauthorized areas will result in immediate expulsion.”

She stepped out of the elevator and into a spotless, windowless hallway. It was an authoritarian prick of a corridor. Unauthorized areas meant any of those accessed through the large, misted-gray glass double doors to her left. Not a problem.

She went right. She had nothing against internal security rules, but she’d learned a healthy respect for them as a child. They were the cops of her adolescence, led by Leland, and she steered clear of the numerous offices and security centers behind those doors.

It was a line she rarely questioned. Well, not after that time with Gracie. She shuddered. Being a teenager with an attitude hadn’t been easy.

The muffled feel of being underground was compounded by the sound of the rhythmic humming breaths of the ventilation system. It smelled like forced air. Manufactured and new-car clean. She preferred the floor above this, 4A. And not just because the gym and gun range were there. But because it wasn’t so stiff.

She knocked on Momma’s office door and entered before getting a response. Momma’s office made up for the lack of decorations on this level. It testified to the colorful soul hidden beneath her damaged skin.

Thick, hand-woven rugs splashed with garish, bright colors; ornaments of every conceivable hue; lush, gold damask wallpaper; sub-Saharan artwork; elephant lamps; brightly painted masks; and a delicate, hand-carved desk of bleached wood.

Wearing a silver silk niqab, Momma sat working at her desk. And before her, in one of the two robin’s egg-blue chairs, sat Leland—working on an iPad. Probably monitoring the many security cameras. Though he usually did that from his office in internal.

Momma raised her head. “Justice. Welcome home.”

“Momma, I need to talk to you.”

As dapper as the silver suit he wore, Leland stood and put the iPad on the desk, then walked around and sat on the corner of Momma’s desk, as if to highlight the point that they were a team.

No need. These two were spookily coordinated. Seriously, her niqab almost matched his suit. What was with them?

So hyperaware of herself, her senses, that she could feel the fibers in her socks, Justice shut the door behind her and walked across the room. She kissed Momma on her silk-lined cheek. She smelled like Momma, like that flowery, earthy richness of Une Rose.

Justice nodded to Leland, who indicated the chair he had just left. “Please sit down.”

Please? Okay. That was different.

She sat in the chair, still warm from Leland. Hot even.

Huh. She was in the hot seat.

Shit. That wasn’t funny. She inhaled, held her breath, released.

“Yeah.” Justice crossed, uncrossed her legs. “I know you want details on the mission, but I need to talk to you about Sandesh.”

Leland shook his head. “First, you listen.”

Okay. Again different. Usually, after a botched mission, they wanted her to talk.

Her mother tugged at the fabric draped across her shoulder. “Yes. We need to discuss your young man.”

Her young man? She didn’t like the sound of that. She looked each in the eyes in turn. “Momma. Leland. I won’t stand for you taking his memories. I won’t.”

“Calm down and listen,” Leland said. “Sandesh is with Gracie.”

“Gracie!” She jolted to her feet. Nightmare. “Where? When?” Poor Sandesh. She had to rescue him.