9.1 🔧 Windshield Wipers

**JUSTICE**

Seth texted ten minutes ago that dinner would be ready in fifteen minutes. Before I leave, I pour a beer from the tap and hand it to a woman with dark skin and huge amber eyes. She’s been giving me the eye ever since she came in with her blond friend. For a split second, I wonder if they are up for a tag team...then I think of who awaits me at home.
Keke.
So much better than this pair.
When Keke had handed me the keys to the Mustang after our ride, my palm tingled when we touched. It was difficult, but I managed to control the urge to grab her hand. It wouldn’t do for me to act eager. So, I shoved my hands in my pockets, only taking them out to unlock the back door.
Once inside, I showed her my office and the room beyond, pointing to various features. I had lingered longer than necessary. Stretching out the fact that the sink was quirky and how the hot water took forever to warm up.
And as much as I tried not to, I kept imagining her laying in that small bed… with me.
Keke must have noticed how I conspicuously avoided mentioning the bed because when I asked if I should get some hot water from the kitchen, she told me no, then all but pushed me out the door.
I took it in stride. I had a million things to do.
With determination, I sat at my desk, eager to get things done.
I couldn’t.
I was all too aware of her movements in the next room.
Too conscious of her.
How her smile brought out the dimple in her right cheek. How her nose, round and strong, reminded me of a 1940s DC-3 airplane.
How I wanted to run my finger over every feature of her face...from her forehead, to her curved brows, to her dark eyes, and her rounded chin. Then down along her jaw to her long and graceful neck.
The very neck I would like to kiss.
Suck.
Mark in a thousand different ways.
How she had looked at me with those eyes, the depths dark and dangerous. The fire of attraction burning as brightly in hers as they were in mine.
We have a chemistry between us. Something we both feel—a raw mixing of the elements that will eventually turn acidic and become corrosive.
Like it always does.
My past makes me ruin every chance at happiness I’ve ever had because I’m selfish with my time. I give it freely to the guys because I owe them for what I did to their mother and I love them.
But for some woman?
Keke…
I can’t. It will be more of the same. I’ll have rules which she’ll break. I’ll tell her it’s over without remorse and she’ll be butt-hurt.
And after only knowing her a few hours, I’m not sure if she is worth all the effort. The inconvenience.
I finish mixing the blonde’s drink and she coyly bats her lashes as she hands over her money.
I give her the vaguest of smiles before tapping Sam on the back. “I’m heading home for dinner. Let me know if it gets busy.”
Sam nods in time with the metal shaker in his hands.
I walk with a purpose, ignoring the stares of the women and their disappointed sighs.
The cool breeze hits me when I step outside and I look up to see the stars shining brightly in the clear sky. Except for the dumpster and Sam’s car, the alley is empty. Blake has already driven the Mustang home.
What a help he is.
Don’t know what I’d do without him or Sebastian. Both have gone above and beyond, helping in ways I hadn’t foreseen. They watch the kids and chauffeur them around when I can’t. Blake also oversees the work I’m having done to my brownstone, turning it from a bachelor pad into a family home. I gave him a vague outline of what I wanted and let him run with it. I had to. My days are full of taking care of the guys. Not to mention my businesses.
Of which I have several.
All lucrative. All time consuming.
The bar, the gyms, the garages throughout the state, and the one where I make the big bucks—my detective work.
I’d started helping women—escape from a bad relationship or find out if they were in a cheating one—when I got out of the military. Through the contacts I made while in service, I set up an agency of trusted sources that help me gather information of a personal kind.
They’ve also set me up with those that operate in the shadows.
My clandestine work allows me to buy classics, renovate my brownstone from top to bottom, and put several millions in the bank.
And I can’t lie. I love the intrigue and the danger, but I can’t risk my life anymore. I’m all the kids have left.
They have Keke. She cares for them and they care for her.
That’s obvious.
When I’d come back into the room to see what was going on, Cameron insisted she come back with them and help make dinner. For the first time since his mother’s death he looked so happy, I didn’t have the heart to say no.
Or the time to say anything.
As if they had received permission, Seth grabbed her bag, D’Andre and Cameron each took her by the arm, and they were out the door in less than ten seconds.
Didn’t even say goodbye.
And yeah, that bothered me.
We’ve been a close-knit team this past month and seeing someone else come in and disrupt the flow didn’t sit so well. The routine the guys and I’ve worked out through trial and error, is something I look forward to each day.
When Blake drops them off after school, we walk to the apartment where I cook dinner and they do their homework. After cleanup, around seven, I head back to the bar. The widowed neighbor across the hall, Mrs. Nilsson, keeps an eye on any comings and goings until I get home around eleven.
It works out all the way around, or at least it did before Keke came along.
Taking a deep breath, I remove the petulant thoughts from my mind. Keke, as a friend of Lilli’s, has a right to see the kids.
Who am I to stop her?
You just want her for yourself.
Yeah. Maybe.
One night. Just one night with no interruptions and no expectations.
How do you think that’s going to happen with the kids around?
Too right. It’s not. End of subject.
I enter the complex through a keypad on the front door. Memories well up when I pass Pippa and Jenna’s old apartment. To dispel them, I run up the stairs two at a time until I’m at my door.
The knob turns easily under my hand because it’s unlocked.
If I’ve told them once, I’ve told them a thousand times to lock the door. Those hardheads I can understand forgetting, but Keke is around my age. She should know better.
From the sounds and the smell of foreign food, they’re in the kitchen. I walk that way, planning to tell Keke off by reminding all of them how unsafe it is to leave the door open.
As I take in the scene, the recriminations die on my lips.
Keke has a fork in her right hand, fluffing up rice in a large pan. Seth has a handful of silverware, placing them somewhat neatly next to the plates on the table. Cameron mops up water from a glass he has overfilled while D’Andre spoons something yellow and fragrant into a dish.
Now, this is foreign.
At the kids’ insistence, we usually pile food onto our plates from the stove and eat it in front of the TV.
How did she convince them to eat at the table?
Besides being attractive, Aunt Keke must be a miracle worker.
As if she hears my thoughts, she turns, giving me a brilliant smile.
“Hi Justice!” she beams. “Dinner is just about ready, so go wash your hands and we can get started.”
“Yes, ma’am,” I mock with a deferential dip of my head, finding it slightly amusing to be ordered around in my own home.
Everyone is at the table when I return from the bathroom. I join them, sitting at the head.
After saying grace, Keke asks, “Shall I serve, or should we pass the dishes around?”
The kids look at each other, then at me.
I shrug. “Do what you think is best.”
“I’ll serve if you don’t mind.”
“By all means.”
Her sharp look at my flippant response relaxes when she sees I’m smiling. I can’t help it. She brings it out in me.
Keke serves me first, piling rice and what has to be curry onto my plate. I know in my limited pantry I don’t have the seasonings for this dish, so I ask where she got them.
“When I packed to come here, I cleaned out my kitchen. I couldn’t bear to throw away the spices my friend Arjun sent me when he was visiting family in India, so they came with.” Her brows draw together and her mouth pulls down in a frown. “Caused me to get checked at customs, though. They wanted to make sure I wasn’t bringing in anything illicit.”
“We learned that word the other day,” Cameron says, spelling the word with his fork. “It means the law forbids it.”
“Or custom does,” Keke adds.
“So,” I say as casually as I can, trying to ignore the feeling of disquiet at Keke mentioning a man with a sweet lilt in her voice, “was this Arjun a student of yours?”
I’m not jealous. I just want to know.
Sure...
Keke shakes her head, chewing her food. After swallowing she says, “I worked at his club in Prague for a few months. He and his wife Sachi had me alternating between tending bar and watching their four-year-old boy, Jai.”
Relief courses through me knowing Arjun was just an employer and nothing more. Still, the detective in me wants to dig deeper. “You’ve worked in a lot of countries. Did you have a work permit for all of them?”
Keke raises a brow, staring me straight in the eye. “For most places I did. When I didn’t, I moved around a lot.”
She’s not above bending some rules. Good to know.
“Did you ever come close to getting caught?”
Her sly grin brings out her dimple again.
A flutter, like the wings of a bird taking flight, rises from my stomach to my chest.
“In Germany I did.” She tells a tale of how she avoided BAMF agents for weeks. Her story not only has the guys, including Cameron, in fits of laughter and suspense, but me as well.
Afterwards, the kids ask her question after question and I manage in a few of my own, mostly about her travels. She never mentions Dubai, and in not doing so, she spikes my curiosity.
Now, however, is not the time to ask. I need to get back to work and I suspect she needs to find a place to stay.
“I’m due back at the bar,” I say, and all eyes turn to me. “Keke, did you find a place to stay?”
“Stay?” Seth asks.
“What?” D’Andre adds.
Only Cameron, with the unfiltered mouth of a twelve-year-old, makes their decision clear. “Aunt Keke’s not going anywhere, Justice. She’s staying here.”