Page 10 of Fighting for Julia (Laguna Beach Cops #6)
Her lips curved into a tiny smile. “Is that really a thing?”
“Yeah. Martini, River, Dooley, Hutch, and well, Tawny, we call her Red.”
“Isn’t Dooley just Owen’s last name? And Hutch short for Hutchinson? Martinelli—Martini. Rivera—River. Not very imaginative, if you ask me.”
Miguel grinned. “We didn’t pick ‘em. It sort of happened by accident.”
“What do you call Justice?”
“Chief.”
Julia let out a low, throaty chuckle that sent an unexpected tingle running up his spine. “Classic. Good night, River. I’ll knock on your door at eight. We’ll grab breakfast and head to an airfield where Dr. Trey McAdams is meeting us.”
He nodded. “Good night, Julia.”
Alone, Miguel texted Justice to inform him that Julia and her parents had been told the truth.
He replied with a thumbs up emoji. The long day that began before dawn caught up to him.
He yawned and headed into the bathroom with his bag of toiletries.
After a warm shower, he brushed his teeth, dressed in a pair of LBPD sweatpants, and crawled beneath the fresh-smelling linens.
Miguel closed his eyes and drifted into sleep.
Crying. Heartbreaking sobs.
The same dream often haunted him.
Ashley floats above him, tears streaming down her face. “I don’t want to leave you,” she sobs. “I love you, Miguel.”
“No! Don’t go!”
An ethereal light pulls her away from his outstretched arms. Ashley’s tears rain on him.
“No…”
Miguel jerked awake. Heart pounding, drenched in sweat. Those heart-wrenching sobs still echoed in his ears…all too real…
As his racing pulse slowly decelerated and the fogginess of sleep left him, Miguel realized he hadn’t imagined the crying he heard.
It came from the other side of the wall near his head.
He listened to the sounds of utter despair until he couldn’t bear them anymore.
Miguel pulled on an LBPD T-shirt and left the guest room.
He stepped a few feet and rapped lightly on the last door at the end of the hallway. “Julia, it’s Miguel.” He spoke in a low voice. “Are you okay?”
No answer, but the choking cries grew less intense.
Miguel tested the doorknob and discovered it unlocked. “I’m coming in.”
He crossed the threshold and closed the door.
In the soft glow of a single lamp, Julia huddled against a large wooden headboard.
Her knees were drawn up to her chest with her arms wrapped around them.
Tears streamed unchecked down her cheeks and dripped from her chin.
She trembled, rocked against her knees, and keened her pain.
Miguel slid next to her on the king-sized bed. Only an inch or two separated them. “Julia. You’re not alone. I’m here. Lean on me.”
His offer struck a chord. Julia buried her face in his neck and cried as if she’d suffered a great loss.
And maybe she had. Less than twelve hours ago, she’d been sure of her identity and place in this world—Julia Washburn, DEA agent.
Now she had a birthright that contradicted everything she believed to be true about herself.
Finding himself in an uncomfortable position, Miguel slipped his arm around Julia’s shoulders and pressed her more firmly against him.
Warmth seeped into him. Julia shifted her body and threw an arm across his midsection.
Her tears soaked his T-shirt. Miguel wrapped his other arm around her quivering body and stroked the smooth and straight dark brown strands of her hair.
He murmured words of comfort and understanding into her ear.
Soon, he exchanged them for a haunting Spanish lullaby that his mother taught him when he was a child.
Miguel sang the lyrics in Spanish as he held Julia close to him.
The song had its desired effect, for the tempest slowly subsided and calm replaced the storm.
The intimacy between them permeated Miguel’s senses. Julia lay half in his lap. Her breasts pressed against his chest. Beneath his hands, he felt her firm, well-toned muscles. Her hair and skin smelled like roses.
Lest Miguel’s self-enforced celibacy became all too apparent, he gently disengaged himself. “Do you want to talk?”
Aware of their closeness and perhaps her vulnerability, Julia scrambled farther away from him. She wiped the last vestiges of tears from her splotchy face. “You sing.”
“And play the guitar.”
“What is the name of the song you sang to me?”
“‘A la Nanita Nana.’ My mother used to sing it to me when I was a little boy.”
“It’s beautiful.”
“If it soothed you, I’m glad.”
Julia dared to look at him, then. Her eyes were red and puffy. “It did. I’m sorry if I woke you. I didn’t realize?—”
“You didn’t,” Miguel improvised. “I was already awake.”
Her gaze turned skeptical. “I’m also sorry that you had to see me like this. Usually, I’m in total control of my emotions.”
“In our line of work, it’s imperative. But give yourself a break. You’re in shock from learning the truth, and you need time to process it.”
Julia yawned, her emotions spent. She wriggled beneath the comforter. “Thanks, Miguel. See you at eight.”
He nodded and rose from the bed. “No need to thank me.” For some reason, Tex popped into his mind. The man never needed or wanted to be thanked.
In the morning Miguel followed Julia’s businesslike demeanor.
Neither mentioned her teary meltdown. After drinking cups of coffee and eating toasted bagels with cream cheese, Julia drove them to a hangar at a private airfield where Dr. Trey McAdams, Brielle’s oldest brother, met them.
An FBI helicopter stood ready to transport them to Staunton.
Though Miguel wondered about the fallout of Brendan keeping the identity of Julia’s birth parents a secret from Madam Secretary, he didn’t broach the subject.
Trey greeted Miguel and Julia with professional and familiar warmth. He shouted above the whirr of the helicopter blades, “It’ll take about thirty minutes to fly to Staunton. I’ve been working with a pair of local detectives, and they’re meeting us on the ground. Let’s go!”
They climbed aboard the FBI’s newest addition to its air fleet, a helicopter as fancy and comfortable as one of its jets, strapped in, and put on their headsets.
When they were in the air, Trey spoke. “We don’t have much intel.
All we know is that Axis and Axalia conned their psychiatrist and were granted freedoms they never should have had.
It took every ounce of my self-control not to knock the guy’s teeth down his throat.
Something triggered their escape, though.
We’re trying to figure it out and where they might have gone. ”
“Any theories?” Miguel asked.
“Yeah. And none of them good.” Trey shot a meaningful glance at Julia.
“You think they know about me,” she surmised.
“I think they’ve always known about you, Julia. They just couldn’t identify you until now. Who’s to say if Lola Anderson learned that the Washburns adopted you? Tex scoured Axel Anderson’s hard drives, and there wasn’t any mention of you or your family.”
For the duration of their flight, they debated where the Anderson siblings might have gone and kept circling back to one location—Mexico.
Partners Carroll and Bartenope, both tall, muscular men dressed in similar black tailored coats and suits waited for Miguel, Julia, and Trey next to a standard-issued SUV. Trey introduced Miguel and Julia, and everyone piled into the vehicle.
On their way to Western State Mental Hospital, Trey asked Detective Carroll, “Have you learned anything since yesterday?”
“Yeah. All the traffic and security cameras in the entire area suddenly went black. After Axis and Axalia escaped from the hospital, we don’t know if they continued on foot or if someone picked them up.”
“We do know they stole clothes from a couple they nearly beat to death not far from Western State. We found their patient uniforms in a dumpster. Officers are canvassing the area and questioning anyone who might have seen them,” Detective Bartenope added.
“Tex can help with that, and maybe even recover the footage. I’ll text him,” Miguel commented.
“Tex?” Detective Bartenope inquired, turning in his seat with a frown.
“A former Navy SEAL who’s a genius with a computer. He goes where no one else can.”
Several inches of snow covered the grounds of the mental hospital.
Yellow crime scene tape prevented looky-loos from being able to trespass onto the property.
Multiple police cars with lights flashing provided another barrier.
Detectives Carroll and Bartenope, Trey, Miguel, and Julia ID’d themselves and ducked beneath the tape.
A skeleton crew of hospital employees, who were needed to care for the patients too mentally ill to be transferred to another facility, were directed to use the entrance at the back of the building.
Two Staunton police officers guarded the crime scene and handed everyone blue latex gloves and paper booties to cover their feet.
In the lobby, technicians still processed the scene where two employees lost their lives.
Miguel snapped pictures with his cell phone.
They proceeded to the floor where Axis and Axalia were housed and paused outside Axis’ room first.
“You’re not going to believe this when you see it,” Trey warned them.
Coagulated gore stained the tiled floor, but the walls of the room arrested their attention. The word SOON had been carved into the cinder blocks. Up. Down. Sideways. Diagonally. And another word had been added recently— JULIA .