Rushed: A Second Chance Sports Romance

by Lauren Landish

  "It is," he agreed, taking my hand in his. “Maybe we can come back here some time and really enjoy it.”

  I smiled and squeezed his fingers. "Remember, that's two dates you have to take me on now, the Cascades, and now here. Keep it up, and I won't be able to go back to Brazil. But seriously, I assume you found something out about Jake Marconi?"

  Tomasso nodded and sighed. "I talked with a friend last night after you went to bed, and he told me that there may be a connection between Leonard Frakes and Jake. It seems like a stretch—a girl in Korea."

  I looked around at the passers-by, all of whom looked like normal people enjoying a far more mundane existence than what I led, and tried to think of what to say. "Are you sure enough to do something about it? He’s your friend."

  "Some things are more important than friendship," Tomasso said in a quiet, intense voice. "Like honor. And lo—”

  "Don't," I said softly, cutting him off. "Not yet—you can’t possibly mean it anyway. Let's just . . . let's focus on keeping you healthy, and this issue with Jake Marconi, then we can go from there. What do you want to do?"

  "I need to confront him," Tomasso said, conviction in his voice after pausing and considering what I'd just said. I could see he wanted to say more, but he understood my point of view and was willing to respect it. "But I need to do it in such a way that minimizes risk. And I can't confront him by myself. I'm not in the best shape for a confrontation, and before you ask, no, you can't be the one to take a shot either. This is Bertoli business."

  "It is Mendosa business as well," I reminded him, "he may have been involved with trying to kill me, after all. That is just as important as your own family loyalty issues. I won’t sit back and be a wallflower in this."

  Tomasso looked like he was going to argue the point, then he saw the expression on my face and relented. "You have a point. But Luisa, there's another reason I don't want you involved."

  "I know," I said, taking his hand and giving his knuckles a kiss. "But that's not going to stop me, regardless of whether we give voice to those reasons or not. I told you before that I know how to handle myself."

  Tomasso kissed my knuckles and turned his eyes back toward the sea. "I know you can. All right, well, someone once said respect was the most important thing. I guess I'll bow to the experts."

  We sat back and watched the gulls circle and dive into the water out on the ocean. The sun was warm, and I was content. I had Tomasso sitting next to me and a feeling of well-being and peace in my heart. "Do we have to go back yet?"

  He shook his head. "No. Nothing needs to be done until tonight,” I said, smiling.

  We stayed there until after noon, when we got up and made our way back toward the parking lot. Finding a little stand that was selling soft-serve ice cream, I was able to let myself feel the fantasy again, even as we sat down with our drippy cones and discussed the details of what we had to do. The whole ordeal was cute, if that word could relate to two people casually discussing the setup and possible shooting of another man.

  Our plan called for more than ice cream, though, so a little before three o'clock, Tomasso took out his phone and made his first call. "Pietro? Yeah, it's Tomasso. I have something I need your help with. Well, I'd take it to Dad, but with him out of town, this is something I should have you involved with. It has to do with a possible betrayal to the family. Can you meet me at the diner tonight, say at midnight? Thanks. No, it'll wait until then."

  Tomasso hung up the phone and handed it to me. "He'll be there. Are you sure that you want to be involved with this?"

  I nodded, my smile fading as I opened the phone, intent on doing my part. "Of course. I appreciate your worry, but this concerns me just as much as you. Besides, I won't be doing this blind or unarmed."

  He nodded and sat back while I hit the dial button. The phone buzzed in my ear while I waited for Jake to pick up. "Hello, Bertoli's Pizza, accounting. Marconi speaking."

  "Hi, Jake? It's Luisa Mendosa." I made sure to use my happiest, most innocent-sounding voice. Tomasso and I didn't want him suspecting a thing. If that meant it sounded like I was flirting with him a bit at the same time, all the better.

  "Luisa? Hey, it's nice to hear your voice. What's up?"

  "Well, I was talking with my brother today on a video chat. Anyway, when I told him that someone in the Bertolis had been in the military, he just went gaga about it. It seems he’s a bit of a military geek, and while the Brazilian Army is cool to him, the Americans are much more so. Would you mind if I picked your brain?"

  "Well, you know, I didn't exactly see any big action or anything," Jake said, still sounding flattered. "The closest I got to combat was yelling some insults at the North Koreans over a loudspeaker."

  "That's all right. He's mostly a nut about the equipment and uniforms, things like that. I figure if I can get some authentic details from you about it all, I can fill in the gaps to make it . . . sexy?"

  I could hear the gulp on Jake's side, and I had to admit I put an extra little bit of purr on my voice when I said it. Use the tools that the good Lord gave you, after all. "Uh, sure," he replied, his voice getting cocky. "I can think of some cool stuff that will get his attention.”

  "Very good. Can we meet outside the mansion? I wasn't supposed to be talking to my brother, and don't want to get in trouble." I winked at Tomasso, who just rolled his eyes at the hokiness of my performance. Still, it was effective. I could hear it in the way Jake's breathing sped up, and he was practically nodding so hard that I could hear his head rattling over the phone line.

  "Sure. Where we going?” Jake asked eagerly, like a puppy dog who had just found out he had a new toy to play with. I wondered how he'd react when he found out he was actually the toy, and I was the bitch who was going to chew him up.

  “I’ve heard about a diner. Tomasso told me about it, but he refuses to take me there. It has been a long time since I had a proper American diner meal. What about there?"

  "There?" Jake asked, surprised. "Uh, sure. I guess. What time?"

  "Eleven thirty. That way, I can make sure I have lots of time to enjoy our . . . conversation?" I said, again putting a little extra emphasis and accent on the final word. I was thrilled when I saw Tomasso's fingers tighten slightly, even though he knew it was all an act.

  "Yeah, I'll be there. See you then."

  "Goodbye, Jake."

  I hung up the phone and handed it back to Tomasso, who was looking at me with a little scowl on his face. "What?"

  "You enjoyed that too much," he said, putting his phone away. "You were teasing me."

  I smiled and leaned over, kissing him on the cheek. “If there's anyone that I'm going to want to make jealous in this country, it's you."

  He huffed slightly, then nodded. "Come on. Time for us to get our shit together. As much as I've enjoyed this day, work calls."

  We made our way to the car, where I paused before closing the door for him. "Thank you for a nice date."

  "It's not a date," Tomasso replied with a mock growl as he jammed his crutches into the floorboard of his car. "If I ever take you out on a date, you'll know it."

  Chapter 15

  Tomasso

  We got to the diner early, a little after eleven in order to make sure our deception was in place. Luisa was dressed in one of her sexiest semi-casual outfits, a short-sleeved blouse with a plunging neckline, along with a set of slacks that left little to the imagination. She had a borrowed miniature Beretta in her purse, a Model 950 that had only a three-inch barrel, the smallest gun in our house arsenal. Ironically, it was also one of the guns that was produced in Italy, the United States and Brazil, which lent a touch of rightness to her carrying it. I hoped that she wouldn’t have reason to take it out, let alone use it.

  I came in ten minutes after Luisa, dressed not as Tomasso Bertoli, but as your typical day laborer who was down on his luck. Underneath my jacket, I wore my own pistol, this time a military-style M9. I crutched over to a booth that allowed me to see bo
th the entrance and where Luisa was sitting and dropped in as if I were exhausted. It wasn't that hard of an act, as I'd crutched nearly three blocks in order to make my arrival seem natural.

  The waitress came over, not recognizing me even though I'd been in the diner multiple times before. I was glad my disguise was decent enough, at least. "What can I getcha, hon?"

  "Coffee and a slice of pecan pie," I said, pitching my voice higher and screechier than normal. Until Pietro came in, I didn't want anyone recognizing me. "That's three bucks, right?"

  "With tax, it's about three fifty," the waitress said, waiting until I peeled out the crumpled and dirtied four singles from my pocket. It was that sort of diner, pay as you go unless you were a Bertoli man. "I'll get you your change with your pie."

  "Thanks," I said, watching as Luisa sipped at what looked like an herbal tea. I reached inside my jacket and tapped the little device inside, activating the Bluetooth earpiece that I had in my ear underneath my disheveled hair. "Whatcha drinking?"

  "Chamomile . . . and Everclear," Luisa mumbled softly before laughing, cutting her eyes over to me as she took another drink. "Okay, minus the Everclear."

  "Good. We've got about three minutes before Jake gets here. You ready?"

  She took another sip of her tea and nodded, seemingly to herself, if anyone was watching. "I'll be okay."

  The waitress brought my coffee and pie, along with my change, which I left sitting as a tip. I tried the pie, enjoying the rich flavor, and reminded myself to order a slice again when I came here as myself next time. The reality was that the diner was mostly a greasy spoon-type joint, and I was glad to have at least one thing on the menu that wasn't going to give me indigestion.

  The bell above the door jingled, and Jake came in. He was wearing not the more typical off-the-rack suit that I assumed he wore for work at the pizza offices, but instead, his tailored suit, the one that he probably wore when he was being a Bertoli man. A little slick, custom fit, and certainly one that said whoever wore it was in charge of himself. He barely glanced in my direction as I huddled over my coffee and pie, but instead, his attention was all on Luisa, who half stood up and waved. Then again, with her cleavage exposed and the smile on her face while she half bent over, I could understand.

  "Jake, it's good to see you," Luisa purred, practically oozing sensuality as he sat down across from her. "Thank you for making the time to see me. I know you actually have a real job to do, and don’t sit around on your ass all day."

  I heard Jake chuckle, and I had to admit, it was a good opening line. It went straight to the point, letting Jake think that not all was cool between Luisa and me, and it complimented him all at the same time. "Well, you can't blame the guy too much. Kinda hard to do pickups when you're on crutches. But he's okay overall. A bit soft, in my opinion, but he'll come along all right. So what did you want to ask me about?"

  They launched into a discussion, pausing only when the waitress came over and got their orders. "So what weapons did you learn about?" Luisa asked after they'd already talked a bit about basic training. "My brother loves the pictures he's seen of the . . . what is it again? The machine guns, I forget the names."

  "Well, I trained on the M60 when I was at Benning, but later on, I fired the M240," Jake said, "but I never was in the heavy weapons squad. I did get to be the SAW gunner for my squad—that's a machine gun that we have at the squad level. That baby rocked."

  "Hmmm, which one was the one that is used in movies most? Matteus first saw it in one of the old Rambo movies, I'm not sure which you're talking about."

  "Oh, that's the sixty," Jake said with a grin. "We called it the Hog, and yeah, it’s pretty cool to fire. Only time I ever got to do any time on it in Korea, though, was when I was on point defense along the DMZ. That's pretty freaky, really."

  "Why's that?" Luisa asked, acting fascinated.

  "Well, you're up on this reinforced guard tower, looking out over about a mile or so of totally untouched terrain. Seriously, since nineteen fifty-four, almost nobody's been in there at all except in very defined areas. Anyway, you're staring out at this mile of pretty much pristine land, knowing that a mile or two away someone is staring back at you, ready to blow your damn head off. Hell, he wouldn't even need to, because you know the North Koreans have had the coordinates for your outpost in their artillery since before you were born. They could probably hit that thing in their sleep, and you wouldn't even see it coming. Still, you’ve gotta be up there, doing your bit for God and country."

  "That has to lead to a lot of stress," Luisa said, turning the conversation. "I've heard a lot of the soldiers find Korean girls who are willing to have fun with the soldiers and let them release some stress."

  "Ah, the camp girls and Princesses," Jake chuckled. "Yeah, they're around."

  "What's the difference?" Luisa asked, purring. "Looks?"

  "No," he admitted, his eyes caught between looking at her lips as she sensuously ate every bit of her steak, or her cleavage that was still on display. "The camp girls are amateurs, just finding a boyfriend. Some of them were actually looking for a real boyfriend too, usually to get a green card to get out of Korea. Hell if I knew what they did when they got back here. They were actually more of a risk than the Princesses, since those girls were pros. They got health checks from the Korean government and everything. I don't know how that all worked out, but basically, if you needed your pipes cleaned, it was better to go to a Princess than a camp girl. Why?"

  "Well, these girls—were they pretty?" Luisa asked.

  "None of them held a candle to you, if that's what you're asking," Jake replied, his voice dropping. "Although they certainly had some Far East secret techniques that they taught me. I could maybe show you, if you're interested."

  "Hmm, maybe later," Luisa said, putting her fork down and reaching underneath the table. I knew what she was doing—getting her pistol ready—even though I couldn't see anything from the angle I was sitting at. "First, though, one more question. Did you ever know a Princess named Sul Ham Kook?"

  Jake had been distracted for nearly ten minutes, and the sudden frankness of her question threw him off, just as we'd intended. He stammered, then set his fork down. "Who?"

  "Sul Ham Kook," Luisa repeated, keeping her hand steady under the table. I could now see her tiny little pistol from my vantage point, and I slipped my hand inside my jacket, ready to help if needed. “Come on, you know her."

  Jake sat back, trying to play it cool. "Luisa, I have no idea who you're talking about. How about we call Tomasso, or maybe my dad, and we can straighten this all out . . .”

  “Don’t reach for the jacket," Luisa warned, cocking her head. "You don't want to know what's in my hand and pointed at your balls under the table. Now, Sul Ham Kook. How'd you two meet?"

  Jake sighed and set his hands on the table. "At a bar. A Princess bar, at least that's what the guys in my platoon called it. I met her soon after coming to Korea and needed my pipes flushed. She and I hit it off pretty well, and we got a pretty regular thing going. Then her village was wiped out, and she started talking to me more about her life and family. We got to be friends, nothing more."

  "And that's how you got introduced to Leonard Frakes?" Luisa continued. "What, a mutual admiration society?"

  Jake laughed and shook his head. "Mutual? Please, that fucking nut job thought she actually loved him. Stupid fucking airman is what he was, but man, was he committed to their cause."

  "So it wasn't love. It wasn't money . . . why'd you sell me out then?" Luisa asked. "You don't sound like someone who commits to an eco-terrorist cause."

  Jake shook his head. "Nope. Actually, good old-fashioned blackmail. I got bored in Korea, to put it bluntly. I mean, my dad's the top Bertoli lieutenant, and here I was on year two of manning a fucking outpost along the DMZ. I went months without a decent Italian meal, and for what? I knew how to stand guard. Whoop-de-fucking-do. So, when I heard a few rumors about some of the guys getting some action going, I got
involved. Wasn't much, just smuggling some automatic weapons out of Korea for the Yakuzas in Japan, but it broke up the monotony."

  "They got caught," Luisa said. Jake nodded.

  "They did. Some fucking Air National Guard Captain flying the C-17 with our shit on it landed at Yokosuka Air Base and promptly got snitched on by someone or the other. I covered my tracks pretty well, except that I'd told Sul Ham. She came to me just before I left service, told me that Frakes was going to be going back to the States soon too, and that he'd look me up. I thought she was full of it until he actually did, about three days before the shit at the center went down. Then afterward, he recognized Tomasso and called me."

  "So you sold me out. Why not just get rid of him?"

  "Because something could’ve gone wrong,” Jake replied. "Besides, you aren't a Bertoli, and if I had, who knew if Sul Ham was going to sell me out? I was covering my ass, plain and simple. Just like I will now."

  Jake's foot shot out, without a lot of power, but enough that he kicked Luisa pretty good underneath the table. He rolled out of his seat, reaching beneath his jacket, and I had my pistol out in a flash. "Jake Marconi!"

  He froze in mid-draw, his eyes going to me. The door of the diner dinged again, and Pietro walked in, his own gun drawn. "What the fuck?"

  "Dad, I . . .” Jake said, his eyes going from me to his father, then freezing, his mouth yawning open as he didn't know what else to say.

  "Pietro, say hello to the man who sold Luisa out to Leonard Frakes," I said, my pistol still leveled on Jake. "We've got it all on a recording."

  I didn’t want to get Pietro involved, but with Dad out of town, I needed someone whose word and authority were great enough for the accusation I was throwing around. I watched as Pietro's face opened in shock, and he looked from me to Luisa to his son, who was still on his knees on the ground. His pistol faltered, and his hand fell to his side, the pistol still in his grasp. "Jake . . . is this true? Did you betray your oath to the Godfather?"