“A stroke?” She reeled back. “Are you kidding me? He’s only in his mid-fifties, and not on any blood pressure medication. How could he have a stroke? Did he have an aneurysm?”
An invisible weight lifted from his shoulders. Damn, it was good to hear someone else voice his concern. And yet, he didn’t want others to know about his suspicions.
“Let’s go in the office,” he said, motioning toward the back of the shop. “Joe can watch over things.”
His worker nodded as Matteo walked passed to meet her on the other side of the counter. What he had to say was only for her ears. She must’ve clued in, because she quietly followed him through the brightly lit dining room and through the door leading to the supply room, then through a door on the right that led to the small office.
He’d barely gotten the door closed behind them when she clamped her fingers around his arm and turned him to face her, but she immediately released him. No doubt, because she felt the same crazy-ass current that passed through their connection.
“All right. What the hell is going on, Matteo?” she asked, rubbing her palm on her jeans.
“A few weeks ago, Omar came in for his lunch and found my father on the floor behind the counter.” His stomach knotted just thinking about what could’ve happened if Omar hadn’t walked in. “He was rushed to the ER. Luckily, I was on base when my sister called to tell me Dad had suffered a stroke. I took leave and drove up.”
She set her backpack on a nearby chair, and her shapely ass against the back of his desk. Lucky desk. “You’re not on leave now, are you?”
His heart rocked. Nothing had changed. He didn’t even bother to question how the hell she figured that out. Bella always knew him better than he knew himself.
“No,” he replied. “Dad’s recovery is going to take a while. He has to relearn to walk and talk.”
Drawing in a breath, she pushed from the desk, stepped close, and silently slid her arms around him. No platitudes or meaningless words of comfort fell from her lips as her face rested against his shoulder. The woman knew better than most that sometimes things didn’t work out okay. He wrapped his arms around her and stood quietly for a moment, enjoying the feel of her hands lightly stroking up and down his back. The simple contact, the comfort meant more to him than anything else she could’ve said or done.
He knew…somehow, he knew deep inside that her commiseration wasn’t just because of his dad. It was for the loss he suffered giving up the teams. Damn, it endeared her to him even more. The invisible wall he’d erected around his heart nearly a decade earlier, cracked, allowing warmth to slide in.
Holding Bella was a bad idea, and yet, Matteo couldn’t bring himself to let go. Not yet. Unable to resist, he closed his eyes and buried his face in her hair, enjoying the rare feel of her in his arms. The luxury, the gift, would have to sustain him for the next few years, so he soaked it all in. Her softness, and strength. The way her breathing, her pulse…her heartbeat synced in time with his.
A strand of her silky hair grazed his jaw. The scent—much like the woman—a contradiction of sweetness and spice, made him want to inhale her.
Which would go against his father’s wishes.
Mustering up the strength to let her go, he was surprised when Bella pushed out of the embrace first. She cleared her throat and stepped back to lean against the desk again, her gaze friendly, but guarded.
None of those actions were synonymous with the old Bella. She would’ve held on and tried to kiss him. In fact, the last time they were together that was exactly what had happened. A palpable memory rose in his body of the feel of the soft swell of her breasts brushing his arm through the silky material of the blue dress he knew she wore in honor of his service in the Navy. It’d taken all the strength he’d possessed to avoid her mouth and push her away that night.
An act he was both grateful for, and regretted at the same time.
Like now, he was relieved she’d stepped back, and admittedly a little put out. Had her feelings for him changed?
Jesus, what the hell did it matter? He fought back a grimace. They couldn’t have a relationship anyway. And yet…
“So, what exactly aren’t you telling me, Matteo?”
His heart rocked in his chest. “What do you mean?” Was he that damn transparent?
She quirked a brow. “You know what I mean. Your dad. What aren’t you telling me about his stroke?”
Dad.
Guilt flushed through him, weighing down his shoulders like a hundred-pound rucksack. He thought she’d meant… A quick mental shake cleared his head and got his mind back on track.
“He also suffered a head injury.”
The only movement she made was the slight narrowing of her eyes. “When he fell? Or before?”
He blew out a breath. “The doctors aren’t sure.”
“So…his stroke might not have been an accident,” she stated, instead of asked.
A shiver raced down his spine at the cold fury darkening her gaze.
He could relate.
“Yes.” He thrust a hand through his hair, and gripped the back of his neck. “And he was working alone, so there were no witnesses either way.”
“What about the security footage?” She nodded toward the monitor displaying a live feed of the shop with Joe making a Stromboli out front.
“Nothing,” he grumbled. “Apparently, Dad only had the cameras out there for show. I immediately rectified that.” It was the first thing he changed when he got to the shop.
She muttered an oath, “I love your dad, but he’s the most stubborn man I know. If he causes me to go gray before he does, I swear I’m going to kick his ass.”
He bit back a grin. Bella never did mince words. “Stubborn doesn’t cover it.”
“Sorry, Matteo.” She sighed. “I had no idea his cameras were only for show or I would’ve installed an active system myself.”
Although he wondered briefly what a photojournalist/blackjack dealer knew about installing security systems, he waved her off. “Don’t worry about it. Like I said, stubborn doesn’t cover it.”
A smirk tugged her lips and sparked in her eyes. “I seem to recall another stubborn Santarelli.”
“Hey…you shouldn’t talk about my sister like that,” he teased, then smiled as her laughter echoed around them.
“You know perfectly well I meant you, squid.” Her gaze continued to sparkle, and it warmed him from head to toe, reminding him of when he’d found shelter after completing a nasty, cold weather op.
The longer he held her gaze, the higher his body temperature rose…and smaller the distance between them appeared. She must’ve felt the same, because her expression sobered, and the air around them crackled and heated.
Damn. Apparently, their connection had matured, too.
Every damn inch of his body became acutely aware of every sweet curve of hers.
How the hell was he supposed to keep his distance when an invisible energy drew him near? Sucked him close like a vacuum?
Once again, it was Bella who broke the spell. She dropped her gaze and straightened her jacket, and he found it easier to breathe. And think.
“You should get that,” she said, nodding toward his crotch.
For a split second, Matteo’s mind blanked, until he felt his pocket vibrate with his ringing phone. Dumbass. Swallowing an oath, he whipped out the phone and answered without looking at the caller ID.
“Is this Matteo Santarelli?” a man asked in a clipped tone.
His heart dropped to the floor. Was it the rehab center? He pulled the phone from his ear to glance at the screen, then released a breath and set the phone back to his ear when he noted a D.C. area code. “Yes. And you are?”
“This is retired Navy Commander Greg Lambert. Is this line secured?”
Matteo had never worked with Lambert, but he’d certainly heard of him through one of his old commanders. “You went through BUDs with Commander Knight. And no, sir. This line isn’t secure.”
She opened her backpack, removed a satellite phone, and handed it to him.
Which was probably the reason she raised a brow.
“But I can call you back on one,” he told Lambert.
“Excellent. I’ll be standing by,” the commander told him, before the line went dead.
He waved the satellite phone at Bella. “Thanks. I need to call him back. Uh…why do you have this?”
She grinned. “Because I travel to remote places and a cell phone doesn’t always cut it.”
Ah. He nodded. “True.”
He was really striving for dumbass of the year today.
Punching in the number Lambert had used to call him on his cell, Matteo contemplated asking Bella to wait in the dining room so he could talk in private, but he had a weird feeling he needed to keep an eye on her.
Or perhaps it was just a personal need.
“I’ll wait for you in the dining room,” she said, as if reading his mind. Damn woman always liked to rebel. “All of a sudden, I have a deep craving for you…I mean, one of your pizzas.” Grabbing her backpack, she winked before leaving him with both of his heads swelling.
“Santarelli? Hello? Is that you?”
It took him a moment to realize Commander Lambert was speaking to him through the phone he held to his ear. Forget dumbass, he was acting like a fucking idiot.
Because he was one.
“Yes, sir. And the line is secure,” he said. “What can I do for you?”
“First of all, how is your father?” Lambert asked, catching him off guard.
Chapter Two
Matteo cocked his head. “Okay. He has a long road ahead, but he’s a fighter.”
“So are you, from what I’ve heard.”
He reeled back. “Exactly what have you heard, and from whom?”
Lambert chuckled. “Jameson Knight. As you already mentioned, he and I go way back. So when I was tasked to head an initiative to take down terrorist sleeper cells in this country, I put the word out to a few of my peers for recommendations. Knight supplied your name. Even sent me a detailed file. You’re a damn good asset to our country.”
“Thank you, sir.”
“Shame you had to leave the teams, but I understand why.”
“Thank you, sir,” he repeated, the knot tugging at his gut. “Initially, I took leave, hoping to rejoin my team after my dad got better. But it appears that’s going to take a while, so I had to retire.” His whole body tensed. Damn, he hadn’t realized how much it hurt to say out loud. He drew in a breath and let it out slowly.
“What if I told you there was still a way to help out this country?”
Matteo stiffened. “How, sir?”
He sure as hell wasn’t going to sling pizza the rest of his life.
“I’d like to add you to the sleeper cells I’m creating from retired SEALs.”
A sliver of adrenaline materialized and kicked up his pulse. “Sleeper SEALs?”
“Exactly. Are you interested?”
Hell, yeah. The lightness in his chest, and his suddenly dry mouth were signs of affirmation, but the timing sucked. “I am, sir, but I need to sort out what happened to my dad.”
“You’re concerned about the sequence of the head trauma,” Lambert said, with agreement underlying his tone.
Matteo didn’t bother to ask how much detail the commander knew about his father’s stroke, or how. The answer was probably above his pay grade.
When he’d had one.
“Yes,” he replied, and went on to quickly explain his concern. “Could be nothing. But I need to know.”
“Understandable,” Lambert said. “And this happened when? Three weeks ago?”
Something in the man’s tone set the hair on Matteo’s neck on end. “Yes. Why? Could this be related to the reason you called?”
“I don’t know. Like you said, could be nothing.”
“Or it could be something,” he countered, everything inside him screaming that it was. All the more reason for him to take the mission.
Even if it wasn’t related, the job would keep him from going stark-raving mad from slinging pizza all day. Or dealing with the holiday hype already sweeping through the boardwalk shops, commandeering the local radio stations, and abuzz in customers’ conversations. He hated this time of the year. Between the commercialism, and growing up with Santa in his last name…yeah, Matteo definitely fell into the Grinch category.
“Tell me about the mission.” He already knew he’d say yes.
“I know I don’t have to ask if you’ve heard of Rasheed Al-Zahawi.”
“Fuck, no.” Matteo’s heart slammed into the floor at the same time his gaze sought Bella on the security monitor. She stood by the counter, pizza in her hand and smile on her face, captivating a grinning Joe with something she was saying. Her life had changed irreparably because of Rasheed. She’d suffered because of him, and Matteo had vowed to someday find the man and make him pay. “You should’ve started your pitch with that.”
“Guess I should’ve.” Lambert’s tone was as grim as the thoughts rushing through Matteo’s head. “I know your godfather was killed trying to stop Rasheed from carrying out another attack on New York City.”
“He did stop him,” Matteo pointed out, damn proud of Bella’s father for saving thousands of lives that fateful New Year’s Eve, thirteen years ago.
“Yes, he did, at the sacrifice of his own life,” the commander said. “Damn shame no one knew he’d saved Times Square, and countless lives.”
Over a million people had been in attendance that night. Matteo remembered his father telling him that in order to keep the city from panicking, the authorities kept the thwarted plot, and all mention of terrorists―captured, killed, or escaped―out of the media.
His gaze returned to Bella again. “Those who mattered to him, knew.”
“Well, there’s chatter Rasheed’s back in the states, headed for your city, if he isn’t there already.”
Shit. Matteo straightened up. “He’s coming to Atlantic City?”
“Yes. Word is, he has sympathizers there, already in place, prepping for his arrival. Which is any day.”
“How reliable is your intel?”
“Very. We got it from Samir Al-Jamil.”
Damn. Matteo’s chest tightened. Those two assholes were involved in several attacks together.
“Samir said he was planning to, and I quote, ‘Make sure America has a reason not to forget your holidays.’ He said Rasheed was involved and someone else Rasheed kept a secret. Chatter is, it could be one of the FBI’s top three most wanted.”
Heavy hitters. He ran a hand through his hair. “Why isn’t Homeland handling this?”
“Since we don’t know the exact target, other than the city, and we don’t know all the players, we need to be careful. Can’t have a ton of agents crawling around, spooking the cell before we know the venue and everyone involved. The bastards will scatter only to come back in the distant future to finish the attack. No. We need you to locate those sympathizers, and Rasheed, find out the venue and who else is involved.”
“So, this isn’t a capture and kill.”
“No. Not yet. We need Rasheed alive,” Lambert stated. “Sorry. I get that you’d want blood.”
Damn straight. For what that bastard had put Bella and her mother through? Before the woman had died in a car accident a few years later. His father had suffered, too. Losing a buddy in combat was bad enough, but to survive the Gulf War, only to be taken out while protecting the innocent in the states had hit his father hard. So, yeah, damn right Matteo wanted blood.
He’d killed for his country before. It didn’t mean he liked it, but he carried out his orders and moved on, otherwise, it could cripple his psyche and render him useless. But some missions, like th
is one, he welcomed a CAK order.
Too bad this wasn’t one of them.
“Unfortunately, Rasheed is too valuable to kill right now.” The commander’s voice held an undercurrent of disgust. “Doesn’t mean someone won’t try. You’re going to have to make sure that doesn’t happen.”
Great. “The government hasn’t put the word out to all the agencies that he has information on an impending attack?”
“Sure they have, but that doesn’t guarantee they’ll all listen. That’s why it’s imperative that you get your hands on him first. Lives are at stake, Santarelli. You must locate these men and find out what they’re planning.”
“And then what, sir? Do I contact you? Do I have backup?” Seemed like too high-profile a target to let it all fall on one retired SEAL. Not that he couldn’t handle it.
“Officially, no,” Lambert said. “This is an unsanctioned op, so if you’re caught, you’re on your own. The U.S. Government won’t bail your ass out, or take any responsibility.”
Nothing new.
“Once you locate Rasheed and extract the information, then call me. I’ll pass the information on to the pertinent agencies, as well as let you know if your orders change.”
Matteo stood a little taller at the unspoken confidence in the commander’s tone and words. “Roger that.”
“If you find you do require backup then consider calling Knight. His agency doesn’t answer to subcommittees, so he can offer immediate assistance.”
He nodded as if Lambert had a visual on him. “Will do,” he said. “Circling back to my dad, sir. Earlier, you alluded that perhaps this mission had something to do with my father. How?”
“I don’t believe in coincidences,” the commander answered. “The fact your father suffered a blow to the head—whether naturally or unnaturally—around the same time chatter started about sympathizers preparing for Rasheed, seems a bit too convenient. It makes my damn nose hair twitch. Plus, if you factor in your father’s overall good health, and lack of medication, it all points to foul play. Hell, I’m on cholesterol medication and high blood pressure pills, and according to your dad’s medical records, he doesn’t take a Goddamn one.”
Grinch Reaper: Sleeper SEALs Book 8 Page 3