Extended HUNTING Excerpt!

HUNTING: A PAVAD FBI Romantic Suspense
Extended Preview

Chapter 1
****
HUNTING Book 5 in the PAVAD series,
 will be available on
June 30, 2013. Jules just wanted to get away. Just stand up, get out of her chair, and walk out of the St. Louis bullpen and disappear for a while. A week, a month, maybe even a year. Maybe forever. Only the knowledge that she didn’t have anywhere else to go kept her butt glued to the ergonomic chair she’d pushed up to the edge of her borrowed desk. 
Being alone sucked. Working for the FBI sucked. Cutting up dead bodies sucked. Dr. Malachi Brockman and his all-knowing blue eyes sucked. It all sucked.
And Jules could do nothing about it. And that's what sucked the most.
She couldn’t leave St. Louis; her only family lived there, and in the last several months she’d come to the realization that even she couldn’t cut herself off from family completely. She could honestly say she’d had that truth knocked into her head months earlier. And the fist had packed quite a wallop.
She’d almost lost everything she had left that day, and since that moment when Agent Stephenson had attacked her and kidnapped her sister-in-law while Jules’ four-year-old nephew watched, Jules had made a vow to make sure that Georgia and Matthew knew she loved them. They were all she had left, the only remnant of any type of family Jules could ever claim. Would ever claim. She couldn’t lose them, and it had taken Agent Stephenson going rogue and trying to kill Georgia for Jules to realize she was pushing her friend away. Jules couldn’t do that anymore. 
So if that meant putting up with the know-it-all Malachi, Jules would do it. 
It was his own fault she disliked him. She knew she was justified in her opinion. He had no right butting in, sticking his patrician nose into her business. And then making excuses for himself. “I'm just worried for you, Julia. It can't be easy dealing with the type of victims you see daily, on top of your own tragedy. Hah! No shit, Sherlock.”
Her tragedy—what did he truly know of tragedy? Sure, he saw things in the job, but from all accounts, the great Dr. Brockman had had an idyllic life. Grew up the oldest of three perfect children, both his perfect parents still living, scholarships to all the right, perfect schools. Perfect. Not to mention that he was good-looking and had tons of money. 
Damned psychologist had everything practically handed to him, and then he had the nerve to tell her she was acting spoiled. Self-centered. Self-absorbed.
Just who the heck did he think he was? They'd not spoken to one another for personal reasons in the entire time she'd worked in St. Louis, then all of the sudden she'd looked up from the autopsy reports she'd been studying to see Brockman staring down at her. Coming to her desk and telling her she should basically just 'get over' her husband Rick's death and move on—before she dragged those who cared about her down as well!
She shot a glare toward the half-rise where his office was located next to Agent Reynolds'. She could just make out the dark head of her new nemesis as he sat speaking with Agent Hellbrook. She wished someone would punch him in the nose, do something to ruin all that perfection. Even if just temporarily. 
God, how she wished she had the balls to do it herself. She tightened her fists as she imagined it. Only the Hippocratic Oath she'd sworn years ago kept her from doing that and so much more to the arrogant jerk.
As if he could read her mind—and she wouldn't put it past him, with his three PhD's in mind reading and fortune telling and smarm—he looked up and smiled the smile that he probably thought would get him out of anything. 
Julia snarled. Not with her it wouldn't.
* * *
Malachi Brockman fought the urge to laugh in satisfaction as his eyes caught those of the lone team member still seated in the bullpen his team shared with Hellbrook's. 
The woman did the damnedest job of hiding how she felt but occasionally her true feelings would slip through that mask. Malachi was determined to remove that mask completely. If she didn't kill him first. He knew—had heard from her closest friend—that she had one hell of a temper when it was aroused. And he knew that was probably exactly what she needed. Fury, anger, rancor—anything other than the numbing grief she'd let grip her for the last three years. Nobody deserved to be that sad for that long. It wasn't healthy. It would eventually eat a person alive. He couldn't let that happen to her. 
If that meant she hated him for the rest of their days, so be it. People had to be in top mental condition to handle the job they did, and Dr. Bellows wasn't in it. She would be—or Malachi would see to it that she was removed from her position with the St. Louis PAVAD unit. Until she became more aware of things around her, he wasn't comfortable sending her out in the field. Period. It was too dangerous.
But then again—Hellbrook felt she was more than capable of the job. Malachi completely disagreed. He'd seen much stronger agents break under far less provocation. 
“That's one angry woman down there.” Hellbrook made the observation mildly. Malachi smirked. “What did you do to her?”
“What makes you think I did anything to her?” Malachi asked. He didn't miss the way her expression darkened. 
“Because the normally calm-natured doctor is shooting poison glares straight over my shoulder, directly at you.” Hellbrook laughed again. 
“I did nothing to her to warrant what she did to me.” 
“Which was?”
“Threw a stapler at my head. And the woman has almost excellent aim.” Malachi rubbed his shoulder. 
“Sounds eerily reminiscent of my morning, as well,” Hellbrook said.
“Oh? Bellows throw a stapler at you, too?”
“No. Georgia did. And it was the television remote. And apparently her aim is better than Jules's.”
“I ducked. How is George?”
“Cranky. That woman hates to be sick.” Worry touched the other man's eyes for a moment. “Julia's been over at the house at least once a day. I don't know who is more concerned—Jules, Georgia, or me.”
“At least George has her own personal physician.” Malachi watched as she gathered her bag and then stomped out. Her actual office was down near the morgue, but she spent many hours in the bullpen.
“I am eternally grateful for Jules. She's been a godsend since this flu’s been making the rounds. I think Georgia would have killed me if not for Jules.”
“So there is some benefit to the woman.”
Hellbrook's brow rose. “Seriously? What is going on with you two?”
“Nothing of importance.” Malachi stood, and Hellbrook followed suit. “But I do believe we shall agree to disagree on the subject of the good doctor.”
“Sounds eerily familiar, as well. I remember feeling a serious bit of rancor toward a woman with good doctor in her title.”
“Yes, but in this instance there won't be the same resolution. I have no intention of doing that with Dr. Julia Bellows.” Malachi shuddered at the thought. Whoever did marry that woman would have to wear body armor. Two inches higher and to the left and she'd have broken his nose with that stapler. “Any part of it.”
So much for do no harm. If he hadn't ducked right when he had...Malachi abhorred violence. There were so many other ways of dealing with conflict. The woman could have killed him. He made a mental note to avoid being alone with her until she'd had time to cool down.
In the meantime, he had a party to host.





Chapter Two
* * *
To paraphrase, a man in search of a political career was in desperate need of a wife. And children. Once he had those—or the start of those children—he could begin his actual political campaign.
That meant he had to finish up with Malachi and begin on the next stage of his plan, a do so rather quickly if he was to meet his first goal. He’d surveyed the women of his acquaintance, knowing that he had rather little time to go out searching for a suitable companion for his aspirations. Not with everything else he needed to accomplish. He’d never been a very patient man. Why should he be? He shouldn’t have to wait for anything. He was not a man who waited. Period. 
Unfortunately, most of the women he knew he had found quite lacking for what he would need of them. His future wife would need to be beautiful—or at least presentable, intelligent, articulate, well-liked, well-groomed, and well-educated. She would have to follow his instructions to the letter, but also be able to make decisions for herself without him present at her side. She would have to understand that children were to be kept clean, neat, and image-ready. No grubby urchins would be allowed. And no more than two, though he would be far more satisfied with just one. 
He had narrowed his list down to a handful of candidates, and had made his selection. While she was far from what he was looking for, with a bit of molding, she could eventually fit his needs.
And she now walked at his side, providing the perfect alibi for the events that would happen later. Events he had set into place. After all, how more perfect could his alibi be, than him escorting an FBI agent?
“Be careful of the snow, my dear.”
“I’m ok. Really. Thanks for the ride.” She had her bag slung over her shoulder and he wondered at it, but didn’t ask. After she was his to do with as he pleased, she would not be jetting around the country with that team of hers. No, she would be a stay at home wife and hostess, set into place to ensure he had his needs met fully while on the campaign trail. His career was the one that mattered, after all. But he would never tell her that, not yet. “I’m going to camp out at Al’s for a while.”
“And what is wrong with your place?” He had to admit, he did not like the idea of her being in Malachi’s home when the next piece was played. 
“Smoke damage.” She laughed, and he smiled. The sound was very pleasing to the ears. It was one of her better features, besides her porcelain skin and rich dark eyes. The hair was horrible, but he would address that later. “Dan’s boy, he’s almost twelve, blew up the basement trying to do his science homework.”
And she lived in Dan’s basement, renting an apartment from her older colleague. “What was he doing down there? Doesn’t he stay upstairs?”
“Oh, I was helping him.” She grinned. “His mother wasn’t too happy, but we had fun doing it.”
“And did he learn the lesson?”
“I think so. The main thing we learned was that neither of us should be playing with that kind of stuff. At least not without an actual tech present. It’ll take a few weeks to change the drywall in my place. There was also the tiny problem of the upstairs bathroom.”
“What was that?”
“Ryan’s little sister left the sink running in the bathroom right over my bedroom. Saturated the drywall that wasn’t smoke damaged.”
What horrific children. If they were his, they would have long been beaten. He just barely held back a shudder. “I see.” 
“I don’t think you do. The water kept the drywall from catching fire, at least. Everything worked out for a reason.”
“I see.”
He guided her up the steps into the house that Malachi shared with his younger sister Alessandra. He’d considered Alessandra, but although she was truly beautiful, he’d found her personality severely lacking for his needs. That woman would never bend to proper authority, and she would give a husband more trouble than she would help. No. He’d needed a more malleable woman, so he’d easily crossed Alessandra from the list, despite her connection to the Brockman family. Once again his attention had landed on Alessandra’s partner, Paige. 
The house was too large for just Malachi and his sister, but he knew it was in perfect repair. Everything Malachi possessed was of high quality. And always had been. Malachi Brockman had never wanted for anything. But he would soon take all that away from Malachi, and he’d watch the man’s perfection wither away. He was so looking forward to it.
Malachi was his biggest obstacle to his career ambition of politics. Malachi may never have said it, but he knew it was always there. He could not be the best at anything until Malachi was no longer a competitor. Malachi had overshadowed him since they were in grade school. But that would go on no longer. Tonight, would be the end of the game.
They met several of Paige’s friends inside, people he was acquainted with because he’d chosen to spend so much of his spare time with Paige. There were only one or two that he genuinely liked, but he hid his disgust as he shook hands with them all. 
Once she was his, he would cull these lower class individuals from her social circle. It would be one of the first things he did. He wanted to appeal to a certain class of constituents, and these people just weren’t them.





Chapter Three
***
Two hours into the party and Mal’s path finally crossed with Julia’s again. She glared at him and stalked off. He laughed as he decided to make it his mission to keep her so riled, she'd have no choice but to explode...again. 
He made a mental note to duck when needed.
What he hadn't counted on was Julia's ability to avoid confrontation. It took him nearly an hour to find her again. She stood in the kitchen doorway, watching the dancers swaying across the make-shift dance floor—what was normally his dining room. He watched her for another moment, enjoying his slight time of voyeurism. His sister must have called her name; she turned back into the kitchen, her dress twitching around her pretty legs. 
The dress she wore was lovely, low-cut and revealing. And a good color choice for her. He might not have liked her personality, but even he had to admit there was nothing wrong with her body. Pity she usually kept it so ruthlessly covered. 
He either saw her dressed in shapeless suits or medical scrubs. Scrubs were his favorite—they at least hinted at the female body beneath. And when dressed in her medical garb she appeared confident. 
She was hard at work helping his sister Al set out punch, applying herself to the task with utmost concentration when he entered the kitchen. Hiding. He’d not missed the expression on her face as she’d watched the dancers. He considered for a moment—had he ever seen her dance with someone? Someone other than Ed Dennis? In an instant, his mind was made up. “Dr. Bellows, I was at least hoping for one dance before the night ends. Instead I find you in here.”
“I'm sorry; I make it a point not to dance with apes.” She didn't look up from the peach punch she was ladling. Mal heard his sister snicker. 
“Julia is a bit angry at me. She wouldn't really say I'm an ape. Then I'd have to say she was a shrew, or something of that nature.” He grinned at the shrew in question. “I would never do that.”
“Of course, you're too perfect for that.” She thickened her slight accent into a more noticeable southern drawl. “And who would ever accuse the great Malachi Brockman of not being perfect? Surely not I.”
She showed just the barest hint of teeth before looking away. “If you'll excuse me, I need to use the restroom.” She left Malachi and Al standing watching her back as she wove through the dancers. 
“Good one, Mal.” Al bumped his shoulder with hers. “What did you do to her this time?”
Malachi smiled. “I probably deserved the stapler she heaved at my head this morning. I just can't seem to resist pushing her buttons. But she will dance with me before this party ends.”
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. 
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 was dancing with Allen Kirkwood. 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 just a little 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. She'd told him 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 two years 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’s 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 than 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. 
“What do you mean?”
“Young. Impulsive, reckless, idealistic. Pampered. Spoiled. Dark eyes that get them whatever they want. Until it gets them hurt or killed.” Mick slammed his bottle on the counter as he glared at the dark-eyed girl dancing around the kitchen, laughing with his sister. Malachi watched his dad ruffle Paige's dark hair. Watched her throw her arms around him and give him a hug. His father blushed, his mother laughed.
He pondered his brother's words a moment...dark eyes? “You've lost someone, haven't you, Mick?”
His brother's eyes flashed, eyes the same color as Malachi's. “None of your damned business, Mal. It's not open for discussion.”
“Anytime it is...” Malachi watched as his brother stormed into the kitchen. Grabbed the obviously heavy trash from Paige's hands and shouldered open the outside door. The kitchen's occupants paused a moment, watching him, as well.
Mick's behavior confirmed Malachi's suspicion. Paige reminded his brother of someone—someone he'd cared a great deal for. Someone he'd lost. And Mick was taking his grief out on Paige. Unfairly. Mal would have to make sure the situation didn't get out of hand—for either Paige or Mick. 
In the meantime—that bag of trash Julia held did look somewhat heavy. He walked into the kitchen with purpose. 
* * *
Jules wasn't leaving until the last of the kitchen was spotless. She’d enjoyed spending the time with Alessandra’s parents and had probably stayed a little too late. She was exhausted and her whole body ached. Still, it had been nice to see how a family interacted. Meredith and Kenneth Brockman were the kind of parents every child from a dysfunctional family dreamed about. Al and her brothers were very lucky. 
Julia's mother and step-father had drunk themselves into oblivion every night until they'd died in a drunken accident around Julia's twentieth birthday. Not exactly Norman Rockwell. Not like the Brockmans, though Julia’s family had actually been more well-to-do than the Brockmans. 
Julia, Paige, and them—Mick and Malachi—shooed the elder couple out the door. They'd worked hard enough pulling the party together; they didn't need to worry about the cleanup, too.
After they left with Al driving them home, Jules, Paige, and the two brothers worked diligently returning Malachi and Al's home back into the spacious open floor living area it was intended to be. Jules took down the decoration with silent help from the giant Mikhail. Paige and Malachi collected all the trash scattered throughout the house. Even though the house was huge by most standards—huge and open, airy—it's first level wasn't designed to hold over two hundred people comfortably. But it had. And it was left to four people to clean up the results.
If Malachi Brockman and his brother weren't there, Julia wouldn't have minded at all. But they did come in handy for heavy lifting. 
Soon it was all finished; the only thing left to do was carrying out the remaining trash bags. Paige and Julia agreed the brothers could handle that little chore, and Jules gathered her things. Paige would be staying the night. She lived clear across town, in a small basement apartment that was currently being repaired. It had been damaged by fire two days ago, and Paige would be staying with Al and Malachi until the repairs were finished. 
Paige disappeared, but Jules knew she'd most likely found her bed. Paige ran on an odd metabolic clock. She could stay up for days at a time and be fine, but once she hit bottom, she slept hard. Jules worried about her friend. Paige's nightmares would catch up to her one day. 
Her sigh was long as she threw her backpack over her shoulder. Thankfully, Jules didn't live too far away. Fifteen minutes and she'd be home in her own bed.
* * *
Malachi knew when she was ready to leave, and he met her by the back door. “Ready to go, Julia? You're more than welcome to stay here. We still have a bed free.”
“What about Paige?” Her words were low, exhausted, and suspicious. Malachi fought a soft smile. He resisted the urge to torment her somehow—she was obviously too tired for a good sparring match. In fact, she looked more than tired, she looked almost wan.
“Crashed on the porch. Hammock.”
“It's thirty degrees outside! And snowing!” 
“It's enclosed and there's a small heater out there. She'll be fine. She's done it before. She likes sleeping outside.” Probably a remnant of sleeping in alleys and on park benches. It made him frown. Maybe it wasn't a good thing. He'd have to give it more thought. Later.
“No. I'm going home.” She shook her head. “Don't leave her out there. It's too cold for her to lie out there.”
“Honestly—I think she did it deliberately. Put some space between her and Mikhail. He makes her nervous.”
“That's because he's a jackass. I think it's a trait his brother shares.” Her dig was said around a yawn so it lacked impact. Mal grabbed her arm and shook it chidingly.
“That's not nice, Dr. Bellows. I'm a perfect gentleman. My brother's the same. That's the way our mother raised us.”
Julia snorted, then sniffled. “Your mother may be a remarkable woman—and I do mean that—but she failed in one area. Two, if you count your brother.”
“You are a heartless woman.”
“I never said otherwise.” She walked carefully down the path, her heels crunching in the snow. Malachi stayed at her side in the uneven drive.
She said nothing as they approached her car. She slipped her key in the lock and turned to him. “Well, as you can see I've arrived at my car. Your duty is done—”
He smiled, the grin glowing in the low light. “Jul—”
The thud sent him reeling into her. Julia screamed, arms reaching up to catch him as he fell. Dark shadows seemed to come from everywhere, surrounding them quickly. Malachi jerked, his hand falling against her car. He spun, fist shooting out at the first shadow...