Page 9 of Fighting for Julia (Laguna Beach Cops #6)
THE PRESENT
ALEXANDRIA, VIRGINIA
Miguel and Julia
Julia gagged. She leaped from the recliner, tossed aside the file folder, and disappeared down a dark hallway. A door slammed.
Brendan grew uncomfortable under Miguel’s scrutiny.
He gulped his third glass of whiskey and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.
“I know your opinion of me. Well, you’re right.
I don’t deserve my name. Brendan Stewart McAdams .
” He spat it with disgust. “You admire and respect my father, Cameron McAdams? The man who abandoned my mother in the hospital after they’d nearly been killed by a drug cartel operating in Miami?
The man who sent my mother into the arms of Brendan Stewart?
He’d still be alive if it weren’t for them, if my mother hadn’t agreed to marry him.
A man she didn’t love! And now because of their guilt, they saddled me with the name of a dead man! ”
Miguel had heard Cameron and Brianna McAdams’ great love story and had no patience for Brendan’s interpretation of it.
“You’re pathetic. Trey is named after your mother’s deceased brother, and he doesn’t have a problem with it.
Your parents loved and respected Brendan Stewart and honored him by gifting you with his name.
Get over yourself. Besides, you have a bigger problem.
Explaining why you kept Julia’s identity a secret from Madam Secretary. ”
“I’d like to know that myself,” Julia declared in a hard tone. The expression in her red-rimmed eyes and on her pale face matched the steeliness in her voice. Her hands were clenched into fists. “How long have you kept this secret from my parents?”
“Five years, when you became a DEA agent.”
Her chest heaved. “Five years! Who else knows, Brendan? Who else?” Julia’s voice rose in volume and intensity.
“I don’t know! I buried the report! If the DEA had known your real identity, they never would have approved your application.”
“Because the granddaughter of General Jorge Escobar could never be trusted.”
Her bitterness hung like a shroud over them.
“You didn’t bury it well enough,” Miguel chided. “Tex uncovered it. Anyone with his expertise could, too, if he were inclined to look.”
“Why was Tex even looking into it?” Brendan demanded. His body straightened into an imperious, defensive posture.
Miguel pointed at the sterling-silver necklace Julia wore. “Because of that.”
Her hand flew to her throat. “My necklace?”
“Justice recognized it.” Miguel hesitated. He hated to remind her of a connection she’d overlooked. “Agent Washburn, the Anderson siblings, Axel, Jr., Axis, and Axalia, all wore the same one with their names.”
Julia’s lips parted, and Miguel imagined the scream that must be rising in her throat.
Her face grew red. She slammed her fists into her thighs, then emitted a low roar of pure animal rage.
She attacked Brendan, knocking the tumbler from his hand.
It shattered into fragments when it hit the hardwood floor.
“You son of a bitch!” She threw a right hook that connected with Brendan’s jaw, and his head snapped back. “Why didn’t you tell us the truth? I had a right to know!”
Brendan deflected her next punch, but she landed several more before Miguel intervened.
He grabbed her by the waist, lifted her off her feet, and swung her away from Brendan.
He held her against him until the tension and fight drained from her slender body.
Julia sagged when he released her but remained upright.
“You son of a bitch!” she screamed a second time.
“You’ve ruined my career! When the public learns I’m the half-sister of a trio of murderers, I’ll be crucified!
No one will trust me! They’ll say, ‘Crazy always begets crazy’!
I’m done as an agent. I might as well resign and save the DEA the trouble of firing me.
” Julia yanked off her necklace and threw it into the fireplace.
The fire sizzled. The silver melted.
“Agent Washburn—” Miguel began.
She rounded on him in a fury. “Don’t call me that!”
He adopted a firm stance, feet slightly apart, arms folded once more across his chest. “Agent Washburn,” he repeated. “Your career isn’t over. Your reputation speaks for itself. You have two of the most powerful and influential voices vouching for you—Cameron and Caden McAdams. Not to mention?—”
“My mother?” Julia interrupted. “How do you suppose this news will affect her? Her campaign?”
“We won’t know until we tell her.”
“Good luck,” Brendan muttered. Blood trickled from a split lip, and bruises were already forming on his face.
Miguel and Julia moved as one toward Brendan.
“You’re not off the hook, McAdams,” Miguel warned him. “Madam Secretary is hearing the truth from you .” He none-too-gently propelled him toward the foyer. “Agent Washburn, pick up the file and let’s go.”
Julia didn’t verbally respond to his calling her Agent Washburn , but she shot daggers at him. Miguel grinned to himself.
Snow fell like gentle rain. Julia drove carefully through the icy streets, and they arrived at an impressive Colonial-style home a few miles from Brendan’s residence.
Inside the warm interior, Miguel brushed snow from his coat and followed Julia and Brendan, who seemed to know where they’d find Barbara and Greg Washburn.
They came to a set of decorative double doors.
Julia rapped on one of them a couple of times and pushed it open when Barbara called, “Come in!”
The Washburns relaxed in a pair of rocker-recliners placed at angles in front of a red-brick fireplace.
Floor-to-ceiling built-in bookshelves covered most of the wall space in the massive room.
A set of windows that rose from the floor halfway up the wall provided a view of their yard covered in snow. Ice edged the panes.
Greg Washburn lowered a copy of The New York Times to gaze at them over black plastic reading glasses. Barbara set aside a file folder and stared in astonishment at Brendan.
“For heaven’s sake, Brendan! What happened to you? Sit down, sit down. Julia, honey, get the first aid kit and an ice pack from the freezer. Officer Rivera, please sit.”
Julia shoved Brendan onto a love seat, and Miguel perched next to him. “No. Not until he tells you and Dad the truth.”
“The truth about what?”
Miguel saw a flush creeping into Brendan’s face, not caused by the warmth of the fire but by his shame and embarrassment.
“My birth parents. Tell them,” Julia prodded.
Greg folded the newspaper and leaned forward. “Your birth parents? Julia, your mother and I have never known their identities.”
“No. But Brendan does. He’s known the truth for five years.”
Barbara glanced sharply at her Chief of Staff. “Brendan, is that true?”
“Yes,” he mumbled.
She lifted her eyes to Julia. “He told you?”
“No. Officer Rivera told me.”
“Start at the beginning, Brendan,” Barbara ordered and absently reached for her husband’s hand.
“It started when I realized your aspiration to run for the presidency. I learned the identities of all your children’s birth parents.
Every single one has an ugly backstory, but none like Julia’s.
” Brendan paused and at least possessed the courage to look Barbara squarely in the eyes as he declared, “Lola Escobar Anderson and Julio Escobar, son of General Jorge Escobar, are her birth parents.”
The Washburns maintained their composure. Greg ripped off his reading glasses, as if he hadn’t heard correctly, and squeezed Barbara’s hand. Her lips tightened, and she gripped the arm of the rocker-recliner with her other hand.
“Officer Rivera, it’s late, and I’m sure you’re tired from the long flight. Julia will show you to your room.” She dismissed them.
On their way upstairs, they retrieved Miguel’s carry-on from the foyer. Neither spoke as he followed her to a guest room near the end of a hallway.
“The room is prepared for you. It has a half-bath with everything you need. Good night, Officer Rivera. Honestly, I don’t know whether I should thank you or?—”
“Or punch me?” he interrupted with a grin.
Her slight smile transformed her face. For the first time, Miguel noticed her high cheekbones, aristocratic nose, and shapely mouth. His heart did that funny thing again.
“Something like that.”
“It’s certain Brendan McAdams won’t ever forget your right hook.”
Julia’s smile faded, and she grimaced. “His aspirations to follow my mother to the White House have come to an abrupt end. I doubt she’ll trust him after this level of betrayal.
” She shook her head. “He’s not like his siblings.
I feel as if I know them intimately through their uncle Caden McAdams, my mentor, though I’ve never met any of them until recently when Brielle accompanied Chief McQuaid here days ago. ”
“It’s a name thing. He believes it’s a burden to be named after his mother’s deceased fiancé. He shared that with me while you were, uh, indisposed.”
Julia averted her gaze as she opened the door, and they stepped across the threshold into a guest room decorated in neutral colors and few furnishings.
A full-sized bed, twin nightstands with table lamps on them, and a horizontal, six-drawer dresser occupied the space.
The closet was to his left, and a door on his right led to the half-bath.
“I suppose it’s better than being named after your father who died by his own cousin’s hands,” she commented in a soft voice.
Sympathy rose in him again, along with an urge to hug her, but Miguel ignored the impulse.
“Your father resisted life in the cartel. He wanted something better for himself and for Lola. For you, too. Julio Escobar loved you enough to leave you at that fire station. To protect you. He’d be proud of you, Agent?—”
She held up her hand. “Julia, please.”
“Julia.” Her name rolled off his tongue, and he liked it. “Call me Miguel, or River, if you prefer. It’s my nickname at the station.”