Hard Justice. Lori Foster

but for the agency that employed him.

      He drove for five minutes, getting his thoughts in order, deciding what he’d say and tamping down the adrenaline rush from kicking a little ass. He missed competing. Not that the stupid punks had offered any real challenge. Street thugs never did. Whenever possible, Justice avoided them.

      But competition...even when he’d lost, he’d loved the sport. ’Course, winning was so much sweeter.

      Rather than dwell on opportunities lost, he cleared his throat and glanced at Fallon, his lecture mentally prepared.

      She was fast asleep. Deep, even breaths lifted her breasts. Her lips were slightly parted, her hands limp at her sides, her head lolling back against the seat.

      Justice should have been disgruntled with her.

      Instead, he spent the rest of the drive to her house with a stupid smile on his face.

      * * *

      “WAKE UP, SLEEPYHEAD.”

      From far away, Fallon heard the words. Too tired to care, she snuggled into her seat and sighed.

      “Fallon, c’mon, girl. Up and at ’em.”

      That gruff voice teased her senses. She pulled the blanket up higher and frowned, trying to refuse.

      Rough fingers stroked her cheek, and she heard, “Damn, you are so soft.”

      Well, that was nice. In fact, this might be the nicest dream she’d ever had.

      A second later, a hard hand shook her shoulder. “Knock off the sappy smile and wake up. Lights are coming on inside and I expect your dad to charge out here any minute.”

      Her dad? Fallon lifted her lashes—and found Justice staring into her face. She blinked to bring him into focus.

      “Hello,” he said with a lopsided grin. “You with me, Fallon?”

      “Oh.” She sat up, felt her head swim and closed her eyes again. “Yes. Sorry.”

      She heard his car door open and close again, then hers opened. “Let’s go.” He unhooked her seat belt for her and practically lifted her out.

      More drunk than she’d realized, Fallon fell against him, and the security lights flashed on around them.

      Justice groaned. “Now we’re in for it.”

      “What in the world do you think you’re doing?”

      Shielding her eyes from the lights, Fallon straightened away from Justice, but kept a hand on his arm for necessary support. “Dad?”

      Wrapped in his housecoat and wearing slippers, her father did indeed charge. The clothes, or lack thereof, and disheveled hair didn’t diminish his stately presence. With haughty disgruntlement, he looked her over, then turned to glare at Justice with concentrated disapproval.

      “You should know,” Justice said fast, “I was all kinds of avuncular. But she drank a little too much and—”

      Fallon gasped. “You big tattletale! I wasn’t going to tell him I drank!”

      With a roll of his eyes, Justice said, “It’s not something you could have hidden from him when you can’t even stand up straight.”

      “I can stand.” She attempted to and teetered to the left. Both Justice and her father reached out. She caught her balance, lifted her chin in triumph...and slowly tipped over.

      Justice got to her first, holding her steady. “Just hush now and let me explain.”

      Feeling very accusatory, Fallon demanded, “Are you going to tell him about the fight, too?”

      This time Justice groaned. “Wasn’t planning on it.”

      “Fight?” her father rasped, his face going ashen. He grabbed her shoulders, turned her this way and that to check her over. “Dear God, are you all right?”

      “No one was hurt,” Justice rushed to explain. “Fallon’s fine.”

      Her father took that in, let out a shaky breath, then drilled them both with his patented stare. “There was a fight?”

      “Skirmish,” Justice soothed. “Nothing serious.”

      Well, since her father knew anyway... “He was amazing,” Fallon gushed. Justice had impressed her and she was dying to share. “He kicked one guy in the face and put him down.”

      “One guy?” More apoplectic by the second, her father barked, “There was more than one?”

      Justice squeezed her when she started to explain, then he took over. “Three knuckleheads wanted to take her purse, that’s all. It wasn’t a big deal.”

      A flush of anger replaced the pale disbelief. Through clenched teeth, her dad said, “I don’t know where you took her, but you quite obviously used poor judgment.”

      When Justice started to speak, Fallon fell into him. “I need to sit down.”

      “Let’s take you in, then your father and I can talk.” He put an arm around her and led her forward.

      She took one step and tripped over her own feet. The concrete drive rushed up at her face.

      Before she made impact, Justice scooped her up into his arms. “Make a note, Fallon. You are not a beer drinker.” He walked past her silently outraged dad.

      Her mother, often more reasonable, stood at the door. “Fallon, what in the world have you done?”

      “Two beers,” Fallon explained. “I swear.”

      “Close to the truth,” Justice said, stepping inside when her mother held the door open. “Add another half a beer to be exact.”

      Fallon looked at the long stairs, then at Justice. “I don’t suppose you could carry me on up?” Her legs felt ridiculously wobbly, and besides, she liked being in his arms. He didn’t look the least bit strained.

      “No,” her dad snapped. “He most definitely cannot. In fact, you will unhand her this instant.”

      “Clayton,” her mother chastised. Then to Justice, “Put her right here.”

      He strode across the foyer to the small settee her mother had indicated and carefully lowered her to the seat.

      Behind them, her father seethed. “You’re fired. Leave and do not return.”

      Going stiff in the neck, Justice said, “She had a terrific time tonight. You know she’s not done, and she’s already familiar with me and—”

      “Fired! Now get out.”

      “Dad!” No, no, no, Fallon thought. It couldn’t end like this. “You can’t blame him for—”

      “If he doesn’t leave this instant, I’ll call the police and have him removed.”

      Justice stiffened. “Fine.”

      As he turned to go, Fallon panicked. “Justice?”

      He paused only a second, sent her a look of frustrated regret, then kept on going...right out of her life.

      “Shh,” her mother told her before she could make a single sound of protest. “Pick your battles, honey, and time them well. Now is definitely not the time.”

      “But—”

      “Come along. I’ll help you upstairs.”

      The night had been so nice. How could she go from happy to devastated in a matter of minutes?

      “You need to sleep it off,” her mother whispered, “then we’ll talk in the morning, I promise.”

      Behind them, her father glared. Never before had she seen him enraged like this. Certainly she’d never seen him enraged at her.

      “Clayton