HUNTING (PAVAD) Page 2

  He’d make sure of it.

  It took him another forty minutes to corner her, and it was only in front of Ana and Paige that he did.

  Julia wouldn’t dare make a scene in front of her friends. And one thing Malachi could say was that she valued and protected her friends. God knew the woman didn’t have very many. Just Georgia, Ana, Paige, Carrie, and Alessandra.

  As luck would have it, the tempo slowed just as he slipped his arms around her. A woman’s voice, low and throaty floated over the dance floor, soon joined by more. Paige, Carrie and Al sang beautifully, even more so when they sang together. This time they sang of enduring love.

  Mal pulled his partner closer, ignoring the way she resisted. Her hair brushed his chin, but he allowed her to keep an appropriate distance between their bodies.

  It wasn’t as if they were lovers, after all. It wasn’t as if they even liked one another. He just wanted to dance with her. He held her almost gently, one hand low on her back, the other holding her left hand against his chest. She wasn’t any bigger than Georgia or Ana and he’d danced with them hundreds of times. So why did she feel so different?

  Malachi didn’t have a clue.

  Chapter Four

  ****

  Alessandra watched her brother and one of her closest friends as they danced. It was funny, seeing them not snipping and sniping at each other for once. It was refreshing, seeing someone yanking Mal’s chain, instead of fawning over him. Most women thought her brother was some type of god, and if she was objective enough she could see where he’d look pretty damned good. He was big and strong, with dark hair and beautiful blue eyes. And he had a great sense of humor, was highly intelligent, and very successful in his field. What her mother would refer to as a ‘prime catch’.

  Jules apparently didn’t agree.

  Al continued to sing, following Paige’s vocal lead for this song Paige had written about longing and waiting for that special someone.

  If that person even existed. Al certainly hadn’t found hers yet.

  But Jules had found hers. And lost him. Al had never asked the details of what had happened, but she knew enough from Georgia to put the pieces together. How horrible. To have someone you loved and then watch them die in front of you.

  No wonder Jules seemed so alone.

  Loneliness was a real bitch sometimes.

  Was Mal lonely? Al had never given it much thought, but watching him pull Julia even closer, watching him stroke the other woman’s back in an almost loving manner, she wondered.

  Interesting.

  Al missed her next cue from Carrie, coming in on the refrain just a half a beat too late.

  Was there something going on between Mal and Jules?

  Al had often wondered if her brother had had feelings for Georgia or Ana, both who had been on his team at one time, but they’d paired off with Fin and Hell quickly once the other men had come into the picture. Leaving Mal on the sidelines, friends with them all.

  Had that bothered Mal? Was that why he picked at Jules so much? Because she was close friends with both Georgia and Ana? Mal treated Jules differently than he did any other woman Al could remember. Did either of them realize that?

  Except…he wasn’t teasing Jules now. He was holding her like he’d held her a thousand times before. Like he’d never let her ago…

  Al felt a rush of envy for her friend. What would it be like to be held like Mal was holding Jules? When was the last time she’d felt that connection with a man?

  Too many years for her to count—and she wasn’t quite thirty!

  Paige was staring at her, a question on her face. Al shook her maudlin thoughts away. Sent a thumbs-up to Paige to let her know Al was back with the program.

  She was probably just seeing things between Jules and Mal that weren’t there. It wasn’t as if either had made any overt signs of attraction toward one another. They were just dancing.

  Kind of like Payton was dancing with Nathanial, Chalmers was dancing with their next door neighbor Tiffany, Smokey Jo from Smokey’s Bar was dancing with Allan Knight. Acquaintances sharing a dance. It was happening all over the space that usually acted as Al’s dining room area.

  So why did what was going on between Jules and her brother look so different?

  Chapter Five

  ***

  The woman in his arms—despite being beautiful in her country-bumpkin way—was completely unremarkable. Such a shame, really. Meredith had introduced them and suggested they dance.

  He would do anything to not hurt Meredith. The woman was a saint, and if dancing with her daughter’s little wallflower friend pleased Meredith, than he would do it. No harm in that. What was but a moment of his time to share in a socially acceptable custom such as dancing at a party?

  Even Malachi was engaged in such an act—though he appeared quite happy to be wrapped around the small woman in his arms.

  He couldn’t quite see her through the crowd, at least not enough to identify her. Had he met her before? He mentally flipped through the guests he’d recalled meeting when he’d entered the party an hour ago. None came to mind who met her physical description.

  Had Malachi brought a date to the party, perhaps? Meredith hadn’t mentioned either of her sons being involved. Was Malachi and his mother just didn’t know it?

  A woman in Malachi’s life would complicate the plans he’d made for Meredith’s oldest son.

  He could feel the outline of the chess piece in his pocket; the piece, a black Bishop, pressed against his thigh when he turned the woman in his arms for the dance. It brought a smile to his lips, one the woman he danced with thought was directed at her.

  He studied her for a moment, taking in the blue eyes that were a bit unusual. Her hair was nearly as blonde as Alessandra’s, and they were near each other in height. She was definitely a pretty woman. But he far preferred another.

  Blondes just weren’t his first choice, though if the woman in his arms was willing to accompany him to his home, he was sure he could enjoy her more fully.

  She did bear a bit of a resemblance to Alessandra though the two weren’t related at all, as far as he knew.

  The piece in his pocket beckoned.

  Yes, this thin blonde woman would make an excellent bishop. And she was close enough to Malachi’s precious team that it would make quite a statement.

  He ramped up the smile he sent the woman. What was her name again? Didn’t it start with a “P” or a “B”?

  She was so incidental, he’d not bothered to remember her name. Pity, now that he needed it.

  He had no room for human error—even his own.

  The piece would stay in his pocket a bit longer.

  Besides, it was best to not muddy the game board too much.

  He had too many plans for Malachi this evening.

  Chapter Six

  ***

  Jules almost wished she liked him. Then she could pretend that the dance meant something other than him trying to torment her. And that was exactly what he was trying to do. And he was doing a good job, too. But he probably didn’t even know how.

  The jerk wore the same cologne as her dead husband. If she closed her eyes, and shrank Malachi some she could pretend she was dancing with Rick again. They said the sense of smell was the most powerful for evoking memories and she believed it. Now.

  Damn him.

  Julia tried to pull back. He frowned down at her and held tight. “You surely can finish one dance, Julia.”

  She hated how he said her name. Nobody called her Julia. Hadn’t since Rick, and her husband had been the only one she’d let call her that. She’d told Malachi to call her Jules, but he refused. “It’s Jules. J-u-l-e-s; for someone so smart you’re remarkably thick-headed. Don’t call me Julia.”

  “Jules sounds like something you’d name a Cocker spaniel.” His words were mild, which aggravated her all that much more.

  “Thanks. Try Dr. Bellows then if Jules offends you in some way.”

  “Too
formal for friends.” He guided her around the dance floor almost effortlessly. They never once stepped on each other.

  “We’re not friends.” It took her a few moments to say it, but it did come out completely flat. Mild. Truthful. “We don’t even like each other. Not that I will admit that to anyone else. Don’t want to be accused of blaspheme against the great god Malachi Brockman.”

  “Of course we’re friends. Why else would we be dancing?”

  “Because you’re a sadistic moron who can’t tell when someone wants nothing to do with you? Far be it from me to point out your idiocy. You’re the great psychologist; shouldn’t you be able to figure it out for yourself?”

  * * *

  The entire time they danced she never raised her voice, never gave any indication she wasn’t perfectly content right where she was. Malachi had to admit a small bit of admiration. The woman could say so much while saying so little. He pulled her a bit closer, just enough that he could feel the barest hint of her body pressed against his. If possible, he thought she was thinner than Georgia or Ana. Too thin. He had no trouble feeling the outline of her ribs beneath his hand. Unhealthily thin.

  He frowned as he remembered the home videos he’d watched with Georgia just yesterday. He’d stopped by for a visit and found the extremely maudlin woman weeping as she’d watched three-year-old videos. It had concerned him at first, but Georgia had explained. She’d forgotten what it was like to have a toddler around, so she watched videos of Matthew’s second birthday.

  Malachi watched with her a moment, eyes cataloging what appeared to be a happy, healthy young couple play with the beautiful little boy Malachi considered an honorary nephew. He’d watched as a younger Georgia answered the doorbell, revealing Dr. and Dr. Bellows.

  The man was of average height, with brown hair and eyes. Just average. Until the camera focused on his face, where the sparks of humor and intelligence were hard to miss.

  But it was the love in the man’s eyes as he looked down at the beautiful brunette at his side that Malachi would always remember. Dr. Rick Bellows had adored his wife, and it didn’t take a behavioral scientist to see it. For a moment Malachi had wondered what it would be like to love a woman that much. To have her look up at him with just the expression that Julia had shot at the man.

  Malachi had barely recognized her. Dressed in a low-cut blouse that flattered her body and coloring, she was a very stunning woman. She flaunted that in front of her husband. Bellows looked at her with indulgence as she flirted and pranced around him. The woman on video was nothing like the plain little stick she tried to convince everyone she was now.

  It was her laughter that had choked Mal up. Free, uninhibited, audacious, beautiful, full of life and love. Heartbreaking when he considered the woman he knew now.

  Once he got over the initial shock he’d tuned back in to the action on the video. It took him a moment to realize the truth—Julia had stuck a cigar in Georgia’s hand. A pink and blue bubble gum cigar that signified one thing. Someone was pregnant, and from the way Georgia hugged her friend and squealed, Malachi knew it was Julia. He’d frowned and looked at his friend as she lay sniffling beside him.

  Georgia had read his mind, something she was good at. Her low explanation had literally broken Malachi’s heart. “This was recorded two weeks before the accident. She lost the baby the day of the funeral. That’s when we completely lost that Julia. I keep hoping, praying, we’ll eventually get her back. At least a little bit. Rick was her everything from almost the very moment they met. They’d been trying for months for the baby. And having a difficult time. When she lost the baby, it terrified me. The Julia from that video was just...gone. I haven’t seen her since.”

  Julia Bellows hadn’t just lost her husband that day, she’d lost her family. Her hope. It explained so much to him.

  He pulled her closer, running a hand down her back when she protested, a gesture intended to sooth. He wasn’t fully aware of what he was doing, but as he recalled the Julia on video he needed the comfort. The danced on in silence.

  He fought the urge to close his eyes and bury his face in the thick softness of her honey brown hair. It was completely straight and smelled like the softest of flowers. They swayed together slowly as Paige sang on. He tucked her head under his chin, held her against his chest until the music ended.

  He stepped back. She looked up at him, wariness and suspicion in her hazel eyes. “Thank you for the dance, Julia.”

  “My pleasure.” Her tone made the lie perfectly clear to him. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I should go help Alessandra clean up the kitchen.”

  “Not necessary. It’s my kitchen after all.” Malachi followed her a few steps. He didn’t make it; his mother stopped him, dragging an eager-looking young woman he didn’t recognize behind her.

  Malachi heard Julia snicker as she escaped, leaving him to politely accept the dance partner his mother basically threw at him.

  As he led the woman to the makeshift dance floor he decided to let Julia have her retreat. This time. Besides, he wasn’t too sure what he’d say to her right then, anyway.

  He didn’t see her again until half of the guests had dissipated. When he did find her, it was to see her standing protectively in front of Paige as both women glared at his brother.

  Malachi knew Paige and Mikhail hadn’t exactly started off on the right note, but it surprised him they’d be so openly hostile toward one another. If Mick had said something to Paige to upset her, Malachi wouldn’t be happy. Mal loved that kid, and if he had his way he’d adopt her into his family completely.

  God knew Paige needed a family. He knew her story, knew how the courts had taken her and an older brother from her drug-addict mother three days after she’d been born. She’d been a ward of the state from that moment until the age of twelve.

  Paige had hit the streets at the tender age of twelve, somehow surviving the next six years living in dark alleys and overpasses. Malachi had nearly vomited when he’d learned how she and Carrie had survived, had learned how they’d sang for food money, how they’d hitch-hiked for warmer weather when necessary.

  He had even seen some of the scars on Paige’s scrawny body. Knife scars, belt marks, burn marks. The kid had been abused, had been through true hell—and still had an amazing capacity to love. Malachi did his best to protect her. In fact, he protected Paige more than he did his own sister. Mick just ignored Julia, glaring at the much taller Paige.

  Malachi didn’t quite understand his brother at times. Ex-military Special Forces, Mick had gone straight into the FBI once his six year term was up. He’d then spent nearly a decade as an agent in violent crimes and white collar before making a startling jump to Internal Affairs. IA—one of the most hated divisions in the Bureau.

  Mal hadn’t seen him in nearly two years, until he’d shown up as a last minute replacement for one of the IA agents assigned to tear Ed Dennis’ career apart. Malachi wouldn’t have Mick giving Paige a hard time.

  Apparently Julia felt the same way. She slid her small body between Paige and Mick. Malachi fought the urge to laugh at the bulldog expression on her face as she glared up at his brother. A long way up.

  Julia was five inches over five feet tall--he’d learned that during a previous case—nine inches shorter than Malachi. His brother stood twelve inches taller than Julia. Minimum. And Mick was extremely thick with muscle. He could pick Julia up one-handed if he wanted. And not even break a sweat.

  Mick didn’t even seem aware of Julia, all his attention focused on the much taller Paige. His brother growled something that had Julia’s expression darkening and her chin rising. Paige glared up at him, her arms crossing in front of her body.

  Malachi stepped between them. “Mick, how about a beer before we clean this place up?”

  His brother switched his glare to Mal’s face. He nodded down at Malachi, though the dark scowl stayed on his face. Mick had a bit of a temper; he remembered many fights between them as boys. He was three years older th
an Mick and the battles they’d engaged in had been intense. Mal wouldn’t trade them for anything in the world.

  Brothers did that. He slapped his hand on his brother’s shoulder as he led him back to the makeshift bar; he’d missed him, pain in the ass though he was. Infrequent phone calls and emails just hadn’t been the same.

  Still, now that Mick was in St. Louis for two weeks Mal intended to make the most of it. They could catch up. Spend the Thanksgiving holiday together with their mother and father and sister. It would be their first together in nearly a decade.

  He knew his parents would like that. They’d moved to the city two years ago, a year after Al had transferred to St. Louis. Two of their children in one city had been the incentive. Malachi loved having them close, and knew Al felt the same way. “It’s good to have you here, little brother. I’ve missed your ugly face.”

  “Sure you have.” Mick snorted. “I’m sure you had plenty of people around here to keep you company if you needed it.”

  “Yes. I had plenty of friends. But a brother’s a little different.” Malachi handed his brother a cold bottle then grabbed one for himself. “So what was that all about?”

  “What?” Mick glared down. Malachi always found it ironic that his little brother stood three inches taller and outweighed him by fifty pounds. He wasn’t so little anymore.

  “Paige and Julia.”

  Mick scowled. “That girl. She’s going to get someone killed someday. Probably herself.”

  “I take it you mean Paige? She’s very good at what she does. Why do you think differently?”

  “I’ve seen her kind before.” Mick took a swig from the bottle in his hand. Both men watched the two women as they helped the Brockman parents in the kitchen. Their mother hugged Paige, patted Julia’s shoulder. She liked the two younger women, everything in her body language made that clear to Malachi.