“Witthe two of ye do for these men. . . .” Brody trails off. He purses his lips again as if suddenly realizing I hadn’t cheated on Leith. This time, appearing more human and apologetic than ever, he says, “Please continue, Justice.”
“Then I had most of the money sent to Marcus LeRoux.”
“Heh. Small-time drug dealer in Boston,” Brody rolls those vibrant blue eyes that remind me so much of Leith.
“How do you know Marcus?” Justice asks.
He tosses back a question of his own. “Wit? He yer lover?”
“No!” she rages. “How dare you?”
“How dare I? Too bad, I was hoping ye would say, ‘Feckme, Brody.’ But if ye’re paying off an old habit, I could talk to some auld friends for Chevelle’s sake. Done deal.” He shrugs. I wonder if he’s referring to the McFarlands.
Justice glares at him. “I hate that bastard. Hate drugs and anyone that has anything to do with them.”
“Yep.” Brody rolls his eyes.
“Lance was . . .”
White noise fuses in my ears for a second. I had never thought ofwhyJustice and I share a connection. Now, though, it hits me. We loved men who took their love away from us. To learn my father may not have . . . My abdomen expands as I take a cleansing breath.
“Lance had the most beautiful voice. Sang in the choir, same church Marcus’ mom attends. Marcus got his hooks into Lance, changed his style. Went to secular music, which was fine by me. I miss R&B, ya know?”
“Yeah,” The edges of my mouth tip sympathetically while Justice’s eyes reflect the past.
“Long story short, Lance changed. Marcus gave Lance drugs to take the edge off. He OD’d once on drugs. The first time, I think it was an accident. But one more time is all it took. And that wasn’t an accident. Everything, it was all too much for him. His note—”
A dam breaks. Her hands fan even more heated tears.
“I’m so sorry,” I murmur, rubbing her back.
Brody looks to me for an answer. After a lifetime of numbing my pain, I feel like a sham for patting her. Brody makes a hasty exit from the booth, only to return a few moments later, having retrieved a couple of napkins.
“I’m okay,” Justice’s voice wobbles. With a faint smile, she takes his offering.
“Ye’re, uh,” he clears his throat, “gonna have to tie it all together for me, for us. Why are ye running from the guy?”
I’m too engrossed with concern for Justice to reach over and take a hand to Brody’s forehead.Does he have a fever?Damn, we’re in a ghost town, an ideal backdrop for a zombie apocalypse movie, and this bastard’s already soulless.
Justice sniffles, continuing her story. “Marcus said he’d spent so much money setting the foundation for thenew, improvedLance. He saidIdid this. I nagged Lance—guilt-tripped him. Marcus demanded that I give him a hundred grand for himprimingthe city for Lance, money spent on promos. The drug dealer turned producer had mismanaged it all.”
I suck on air. “Sounds like a creep.”
“Turns out, I underestimated Marcus. He’s more than a creep.”
“Withe do, Justice?” Brody asks.
“Well, I didn’t take Marcus’ threats seriously until he roughed up my dad. My dad told me to leave, and he’d try to pay him. My parents dug into their 401k.”
“When was this? How long have you been without your family?” I murmur. “For four years, you haven’t . . .”
I remember one time I’d asked Justice what her plans were for the holidays. I assumed my last name was the reason she politely shrugged me off.
“Little over five years. I still owe him about twenty grand. The odd jobs I’ve taken aren’t much help. My parents are robbing Peter to pay Paul.”
“Ye dinna owe him another dollar,” Brody declares. “How’d he find ye now?”
“This time?” she mutters.