Desert Angel (Family Justice Book 2) (2 page)

“You mean the one that sends my balls running for cover?”

They laughed quietly, each smirking at the other.
Women.
The great equalizers.

“Actually, I want to talk to you about the wedding.”

“Ah! The royal event? Big church, white dress, Uncle Eddie doing the sacred anointing thing? Is that what you dragged me here for?”

Alex groaned at the description. But he left out the horse-drawn carriage, fifty-two gun salute, and the Irish flash mob doing Celtic dances along the avenue. Shuddering at his fanciful thoughts, he silently prayed that he’d just made all that shit up. Maybe it was time to start paying attention to the planning.

“Yeah,
that
wedding. And nobody dragged you anywhere, you cheap son-of-a-bitch. Promise of a free meal and you’d be anybody’s friend.”

“Suck my dick,” Parker taunted as he knocked back the end of his Port.

“Not even negotiable.”

The waiter appeared with Parker’s ginormous slab of cheesecake and Alex’s bowl of ice cream. He liked cakes and treats as much as the next guy—but ice cream?
Fuck.
He dreamed about the stuff.

Sweating his balls off in an unforgiving and inhospitable country where he had to spit sand out of his mouth each night, his fantasies about vats of the ice-cold treat were a regular occurrence. To this day, he never passed up an opportunity to indulge. In fact, Alex treated a bowl of good ice cream like a lover. Savoring every lick, he took his good ol’ time with each spoonful, even moaning when the cold sweet cream melted in his mouth.

Parker sat with his knife in one hand, the fork in the other, resting upright in his grip. He looked like a caveman using utensils for the first time. Never failed to get a laugh. But it was the ridiculous and very exaggerated Cookie Monster voice that easily cracked Alex up.

“Me like cheesecake! Listen,” he chortled, leaning his ear toward the dessert. “It say
eat me!
And eat begin with E and me begin with M . . . as in M
mmmm.
”

That shit would never get old.

They said nothing for a couple of bites before Alex went back to their conversation.

“So, here’s the thing, fuckface,” he said taking a deep breath. “There’s some tradition that says the groom needs a best man. Bunch of bullshit about having a second, in case of cold feet.”

Parker made a strangled sound and quickly reached for his glass of water. After a quick recovery, he smirked and mumbled, “Holy shit.”

With the hint of a smile, Alex shook his head and sat back heavily.

“Crap. Like asking Meghan to marry me wasn’t enough. Now I have to grovel to your sorry ass as well.”

“Hold on! Hold on!” Parker wheezed with laughter. Putting his utensils down, he wiped his mouth on a napkin then reached across the table and took one of Alex’s hands.

Anyone watching would assume they were a fucking couple. He wanted to throttle the asshole.

Grinning broadly, Parker snickered. “Okay. That’s better.
Now
ask me and make it good, Marquez. It’s not every day a guy gets asked to be in a wedding.”

Alex’s eyes widened at the jest, which was said just loud enough for the two tables nearest them to hear. One of the female patrons looked at them and made that
Oh, how romantic
expression.

The fucker.
Okay. Two could play that game
.

Clearing his throat dramatically, Alex sandwiched Parker’s big paw between his hands and squeezed. Hard.

In a voice equally as loud and attention getting he said, “Parker Sullivan. Will you do me the great honor of coming with me to Boston and standing by my side at the marriage altar?”

It was a priceless fucking moment made even better because Alex knew damn well at least one cell phone camera had captured the proposal.

Parker burst out laughing, followed quickly by Alex who nearly fell over from the absurdity of the scene they were creating.

“This calls for champagne!”

“Why? Because I’m paying for it?” Alex drawled.

“You can afford it,” Parker said
tsking.
“And you knew I wasn’t a cheap date when you asked me out.”

Within minutes, they were toasting from a bottle of Perrier Jouët Nuit Blanché Rose. Two grown men sipping from a pink champagne bottle. This was why he put up with Parker all these years. The man had a unique sense of the comically absurd.

“So, is that a yes, dude?”

Half his glass of champagne was gone before Parker answered. “Of course, it’s a yes. On one condition.”

“There’s a condition? Are you fucking kidding me?” Alex groaned.

Cocking his head to one side, his old friend smirked. “I argue and make deals for a living. What the hell did you expect?”

Alex chuckled but fixed his companion with a searing look.

“Well, okay . . . but if the words
droit du seigneur
come out of your mouth, I’ll drop you where you sit.”

Parker inhaled another huge forkful of cheesecake and grinned at Alex like a mindless idiot. “God. I like having the upper hand with you. The possibilities are endless.”

Shaking his head, Alex raised an eyebrow. “Don’t flatter yourself, counselor. There are two more buttheads like you who can just as easily fit into a tuxedo.”

“Perhaps,” Parker laughed with a wink, “but I’d wager that a certain Boston Bombshell knows all about this little tête-à-tête and would have your balls if you fucked it up.”

Sliding a spoonful of vanilla ice cream into his mouth, Alex had to stifle a smile.
She would, indeed.
Putting the spoon down with an exaggerated sigh, he ran his fingers through his hair and smirked.

“Okay. What do I have to do? Beg? Get down on one knee? I’m sure the other diners would love that,” he said, looking around the room.

In a crisp, no-nonsense,
I have your ass over a barrel
tone, Parker laid out his terms.

Seriously,
Alex thought.
This is why I love this fucking guy.
It had always been this way with them. Half cheesy, half poker-face with a large dollop of comedy thrown in for good measure.

“I will happily come to Boston and do my very best to cause as much mayhem as humanly possible if you agree to come out of retirement and get back in the saddle with Desert Thunder. Not all the time—I know you like to think you have an important job,
as we all do,
but at least once or twice a month.”

So . . . that was the deal? Play with a motley band of old heads? Sure. Why the fuck not? Meghan would get a kick out of it. And the truth was that he missed playing live. Missed the camaraderie that came with a bunch of grown-ups living out their rock ‘n’ roll fantasies in a booze-soaked honky tonk because, well—because they could.

Decision made, he stuck his hand out and declared, “Done!” in a firm voice.

“Hot damn,” Parker murmured. “A bloody steak, the best Port in town, cheesecake to die for, pink champagne, and the return of Thunder Foot.
Winning,
man!”

Alex blew out a breath and chuckled at Parker’s use of the band nickname he was known by. “Fucker.”

Making quick work of his softening ice cream, he was surprised when Parker commented, “Thought you’d ask one of those Justice fools you babysit. Or your uncle. All kidding aside, man. I’m honored.”

“Drae and Cam are in Dad One and Two mode. And Uncle Calder? Jesus. He’s got his head up his ass over Tori’s mom. Damn lovesick fool. I swear to Christ if he doesn’t make a move soon, I’m gonna throttle his sorry ass.”

“That bad, huh?”

“You have no idea,” he snickered. “Nothing worse than a grown man mooning over a woman.”

Alex felt the silent chill that descended upon their table at his offhand comment.

“Uh, I was wondering,” Parker asked with what Alex supposed the man thought was believable nonchalance. “Will, uh . . . I mean, will Angelina be in Boston?”

Angie.
Alex’s little sister. The depth of her one-time adoration and hero worship for his friend was well known. It was more than strange that they were so distant from each other now.

Alex shrugged. “Will she be in Boston for the wedding? Of course, man.”

Watching that tidbit of information sink into Parker’s thick skull, he waited a few beats and added, “Matter of fact, she’s coming here. Soon.”

His old friend paused and glanced around the room for a few seconds at everyone and everything except Alex. Then, on a growl that came out sounding cautious, he asked, “Here? You mean,
here
here?”

“Yep. She’s coming to help Meghan with the wedding. It’s what she does, after all,” he added tactfully. “Plan events.”

Parker’s eyes clouded, and he glanced away. “Right.”

“Will be good for her,” Alex added in a rush. “Mom says she’s been a right royal pain in the ass since she ended her engagement.”

Hmmm.
If he wasn’t mistaken, the mention of Angie’s on-the-way-to-the-altar farce made Parker turn positively white.

“I’m sure Meghan will be giving you a call when she gets here. Family dinner and all. Give Angie a chance to catch up with old . . .
friends.
”

“Oh, uh . . . yeah. Cool. Look, dude, I’m stuffed. Think we should call it a night?”

Wow. For quick turnarounds, this one was epic.

It sure did seem like Alex’s suspicions about his old friend and sister having at least flirted with a relationship were on target. Since it happened when he was a billion miles away trying to stay alive and get home in one piece, he didn’t have any hard facts—just a sixth sense. Parker’s shocked reaction to learning Angie was coming here now certainly got him thinking.

A
NGELINA WAS COMING HERE? TO
Arizona?
What the fuck, man?
He hadn’t seen that coming. He never dreamed her coming home was any sort of real possibility.

Gripping the steering wheel, Parker tried to focus on the road while his mind careened all over the place. Quickly touting up a hundred potential scenes made possible by Angie coming home, he cringed. Estranged as they were, none were comfortable and all involved an Armageddon-like potential he wasn’t happy about.

The Sullivan and Marquez families had been closer than close for decades. All of Parker’s memories included Alex, who was one year behind him and very much his partner in crime. Alex Marquez was his right-hand, the second-in-command—his co-pilot and the friend he counted on to ride shotgun.

Alex’s cool as shit parents, Uncle Cristián and Aunt Ashleigh, were his parents’ dearest friends. The two families had a bond that went back.
Waaay back,
meaning Parker’s memories also included Alex’s two sisters.

Sophia, two years younger than Alex, was a straight-laced overachiever with high aspirations. He liked Soph—everyone did, but it was her baby sister, Angelina, who captured his attention from the start. Heart, mind and soul. In fact, Parker couldn’t recall a time when the girl hadn’t fascinated him.

Boys being boys, it was hard to ignore the arrival of a pink bundle of chubby delight when Alex’s baby sister invaded their world. That was how he remembered her. Soft, wonderful Angelina. Alex adored his unexpected sibling, which made having her around easy. She was a mischievous imp as she grew and more likely to cause a ruckus than sweet, sedate Sophie. And he liked her.
A lot.

During his college years, as Angie went from little girl to breathtaking young woman, the fascination with the girl who was technically off-limits had messed with his head. Their family’s close-knit bond and the significant age difference between them confused Parker.

He remembered how close they became once she was off the Marquez leash as a young, carefree college student. Those thoughts were
always
his undoing. Sweat was pouring off his neck into the collar of his shirt as the five-star meal he’d consumed churned in his gut. It took a damn lot of energy to compartmentalize and cut off an entire part of his life, but it wasn’t like he had much choice. His thoughtless transgression when they parted ways had been so monumental, he couldn’t see how they could ever get past it. He kept all those feelings locked down tight so he wouldn’t go mad.

Lights drifted by in the darkness along the winding drive to his home on the outskirts of Sedona. He could do the drive on automatic, which was probably a good thing in his current preoccupied state.

He knew that Uncle Cris and Aunt Ashleigh were staying at the Villa while Alex and Meghan honeymooned but he assumed Angie and Soph would return to Spain after the wedding to hadle the vineyard. Thoughts of the Marquez Winery reminded Parker that every summer, his folks traveled to Spain for an extended visit with Alex’s parents. Always full of news and gossip when they returned, he’d have to sit through the obligatory sharing of the vacation pictures and the enthusiastic re-telling of every moment spent at the opulent Valleja-Marquez hacienda enjoying the splendor of the massive casa grande and winery with its ancient cellars brimming with history.

He’d had to endure watching the beautiful young girl he’d unintentionally betrayed change into a breathtaking, accomplished woman—one who he had no doubt hated his fucking guts. Knowing he deserved her hostility for having been a dick didn’t lessen how he felt.