Page 8 of Fighting for Julia (Laguna Beach Cops #6)

THE PRESENT

ALEXANDRIA, VIRGINIA

Officer Miguel Rivera

Miguel disembarked the plane with only his carry-on and made his way through the throng of travelers to the terminal’s exit. He’d been told to expect an FBI agent to meet him, but the identity of the woman standing next to a government-issued Suburban startled him.

Julia Washburn .

She waved and smiled at him. He returned the gesture, and to his surprise, his heart did a funny thing, like skip a beat or something.

Julia wore navy slacks and a blazer, paired with a white blouse and serviceable shoes.

He glimpsed her badge pinned to her waistband and her holstered gun.

Her dark brown hair hung in a ponytail down her back.

When Miguel approached her, she held out a slim, well-manicured hand. “Officer Rivera, hi. I can tell by the puzzled expression on your face that you weren’t expecting me.”

Her firm grip sent an unwelcome electric current up his arm. He pulled his hand away first. “No.”

She popped open the back, and he tossed his carry-on inside. Julia slid behind the wheel, and he climbed into the passenger’s seat next to her.

“When my mother learned you were coming, she insisted I pick you up.”

“I appreciate it.”

“She also insisted you’re staying with us and cancelled your hotel reservation.”

Miguel’s jaw tightened a little. “Oh?”

She glanced sideways at him. “Don’t be angry. It makes sense since you’re on her security detail.”

It did, but he preferred his privacy. “We need to speak with Brendan McAdams, your mother’s Chief of Staff. Is he at your home?”

“His, I imagine. Ever since the news broke today about the Anderson siblings, he’s been acting strange, off his game. And by we , do you really mean you ?”

“No. I meant both of us.”

“This can’t wait until tomorrow?”

“No, it cannot.”

After several minutes of silence, Julia asked, “Why did Chief McQuaid send you instead of coming himself?”

“I volunteered. He’s preparing to leave his family and wants to spend as much time with them as possible.”

“And you don’t? Have a family, I mean.”

“Scattered.”

“Married?”

Miguel’s gut twisted in pain. He would have married Ashley Laine if she hadn’t been killed in the line of duty by Axel, Jr. “No.”

“You don’t talk much, do you?”

“I’m focused on the job. Axis and Axalia Anderson pose a serious threat to all of us.”

“I don’t understand why we’re wasting time meeting with Brendan McAdams, then.”

“You will.”

Ice and snow covered the bare branches of the trees lining the street on which Brendan lived.

Snowplows had cleared paths for cars to drive through the neighborhood.

Brendan’s house lay in a deep cul-de-sac on at least a half-acre of land.

Julia turned into the long driveway and shifted the Suburban into park.

Julia had stopped asking Miguel questions after his last enigmatic response. He didn’t know which was worse—her inquiries or her silence. A rush of sympathy for her rose in him. Julia’s entire world was about to explode.

Miguel rang the doorbell and knocked briskly. He stared at the security camera and waited. Within a minute or two, they heard footsteps approaching and deadbolts unlocking. Brendan opened the door and frowned at them.

“Why are you here? It’s late. Has something else happened?”

The fraction of annoyance in Brendan’s tone belied his apprehension. Miguel detected fear in Brendan’s amber eyes, and he tensed with his suspicion.

“Brendan, aren’t you going to invite us in?” Julia asked. “It’s freezing out here.”

“Of course.” He pulled the door wider to admit them.

Miguel and Julia stepped into a warm foyer where they shed their coats, scarves, and gloves. They followed Brendan into a comfortably furnished living room. A cozy fire crackled.

Indicating a decanter of whiskey on the glass-topped cocktail table, Brendan offered them a drink. “Care for a shot?”

Miguel and Julia exchanged a look and shook their heads. “No.”

“Well, don’t mind if I do.” Brendan poured a liberal amount into a crystal tumbler and saluted them. “Cheers. I guess you’re here to discuss the Anderson situation.”

“Partly.” Miguel crossed his arms. “You know the truth, don’t you, Brendan? For the past eight years, at least, you’ve known the truth.”

Brendan’s eyes slid away from Miguel’s. He drained the tumbler of whiskey and poured another. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“You’re a damn coward, McAdams. You don’t deserve to bear that name.” Miguel turned toward Julia. “Agent Washburn, I’m truly sorry for what I’m about to tell you. Earlier today we learned the identity of your birth parents. Lola Escobar Anderson and Julio Escobar.”

Julia’s trusting gaze widened, and she let out a low exclamation of incredulity. “That’s absurd! Tell him, Brendan. Tell Officer Rivera that he’s wrong.”

Brendan pointed to a file folder lying on a recliner next to the fireplace. “I can’t.”

Julia grabbed it and skimmed through the pages. She swayed on her feet as her face lost its color. Miguel started to move toward her to lend aid, but she collapsed onto the recliner. When she finished reading the sordid details of her true heritage, she closed the folder.

Staring down at the hardwood floor, she muttered, “So, it’s true. I’m the daughter of a domestic terrorist who committed murder and the son of General Jorge Escobar, the most notorious leader of a Mexican drug cartel known to the DEA.”

Julia lifted her eyes. “I’m a DEA agent, for God’s sake, and I’m his fucking granddaughter .”