Grinch Reaper

by Donna Michaels

  “Never doubt your gut, Santarelli. It got you through many missions,” Lambert pointed out. “You felt something was off, and I agree with you.”

  Roger that. “So it’s possible he may have heard something, or seen something.”

  “Or someone,” Lambert added. “Your father’s lucky to be alive. You know how these bastards work. They don’t leave witnesses.”

  Invisible, cold fingers squeezed Matteo’s heart, sending chills down his spine. “They were probably interrupted.”

  Even though it was a slower time of year, the boardwalk still drew a crowd in spurts.

  “Most likely.”

  Fuck. Those cold fingers squeezed harder. His dad was a sitting duck. Thank God he’d at least had the foresight to restrict visitors to family. But if these people wanted his father dead, they’d find a way to get in.

  “Now that I think about it,” Lambert said. “I’m going to call Jameson and ask him to provide protection for your dad. His agents are former SEALs and military, so don’t worry, your father will be safe at the center, and can continue his rehab. This way you can work this mission without worrying about him. Plus, they could provide backup, should you need it.”

  “I appreciate that, sir,” he said, already feeling the tightness ease in his chest.

  He’d be able to work cleaner, smarter, quicker if he wasn’t worried about his father.

  “A few more things before I go. Make sure you check in with me. You can use this number you called. And as for your compensation,” the commander said, mentioning an amount which equaled a fuck-ton of money.

  But he didn’t give a rat’s ass if he got paid. Matteo wasn’t doing it for money. He took the mission for his dad. For Bella. For his godfather, and to bring justice to his killer…after he extracted the information he needed to shut down the cell and ensure no one died on his watch.

  Something about the commander’s silence unsettled his gut. “Why do I get the impression there’s something else, sir?”

  Lambert’s chuckle filled his ear. “Because you’re a damn good SEAL.”

  Was...

  His unsettled gut tightened, and he considered correcting the man, but changed his mind. Lambert was right. Matteo would never stop being a SEAL. He’d earned his trident, fought for his country. Took bullets for his brothers. No one could take any of that away from him.

  “You also need a heads-up,” Lambert stated. “There’s chatter that a few agencies have sanctioned a hit on Rasheed.”

  “Foreign?”

  “And domestic,” Lambert replied. “So locate those sympathizers, find Rasheed, and get that bastard to talk before he can’t.”

  Matteo nodded. “Yes, sir.”

  “I’m going to call Jameson now. Expect to hear from him soon,” Lambert told him, before hanging up.

  After clicking off the phone, Matteo sank into the chair behind the desk and blew out a breath. Fucking terrorist sympathizers might’ve attacked his dad.

  The same questions from before ran through his mind. Why didn’t they kill him? Were they interrupted? Did his father know his attacker? Did the attacker know his dad survived?

  He was hoping against hope that none of that mattered because his father’s stroke was brought on by natural causes.

  Not that he wished bad health on his father, but the alternative was harder to swallow. He would have enough on his plate trying to find Rasheed and keep the prick alive.

  Damn. He couldn’t believe he had to protect the bastard. And from American, and probably foreign agents, no doubt. His gaze wandered to Bella’s sweet image on the monitor again.

  How the hell would she feel knowing the man who killed her father was coming to Atlantic City, or possibly already here, and he had to keep the guy safe?

  His stomach lurched as he imagined her smile fading, and brows crashing together from the disappointment rippling through her body.

  Good thing she wasn’t going to know.

  Chapter Three

  Instinctively, Bella knew Matteo’s phone call was about Rasheed Al-Zahawi. So why the hell was she out here in the restaurant?

  What she should’ve done was sat her ass in a chair and stayed until he asked her to leave, or planted one of the several listening devices stored in her backpack. But instead, she left him alone to talk to someone Jameson knew, about the man who killed her dad.

  She was a fool, and too damn soft where Matteo was concerned. He muddled her mind. Kept her from doing her job. Dammit.

  Rasheed was her mark. Her sanctioned hit. She couldn’t allow feelings for her childhood crush to screw up her mission. Her life-long mission to remove Rasheed’s evil from the world.

  Of course, she hadn’t stood idly by, eating pizza and gabbing to Joe, either. A quick text to her friend Brooke, who worked for Jameson Knight at the Knight Agency, netted her the identity of Matteo’s caller.

  Commander Greg Lambert.

  Admiration warmed her blood. Admiration for the commander and his achievements known throughout her circle of peers, and for Matteo and the fact a great leader like Lambert sought him out.

  No surprise. The guy always gave a hundred and ten percent. He didn’t know how to fail.

  She bit into her pizza, enjoying the combination of fresh mozzarella and marinara on a thin crust, with just the right thickness and hint of garlic that made her mouth water. Dammit. Even his pies were exceptional.

  Taking another bite, she thought about her conversation with Joe, about things that happened while she was away. A rash of recent break-ins among a few shops on the boardwalk, and in town, a missing boat and a fire in an abandoned building. Were they relevant? Maybe not, but she was going to check them out…after she saw her godfather.

  But she’d have to wait for Matteo to take her, since Joe also told her only family was allowed to visit.

  Smart move.

  A prickling at the base of her neck spread out to bite across her shoulders. If someone cold-cocked him, they were going to beg to be arrested.

  “Bella, you ready?” Matteo’s deep, delicious tone turned the prickling to tingling across her shoulders.

  She turned, and noted he’d donned a black leather jacket over his red Santarelli Pizza T-shirt, and damn, she enjoyed the view of all six foot one of incredible, lethal, confident, muscle striding her way. The tingle grew to a shiver as his dark gaze remained on her, warming parts that normally stayed frozen.

  Good or bad? Jury was still out.

  “Always,” she replied, receiving a sexy grin that shifted her heart.

  Okay. Bad. Definitely bad.

  She didn’t need the man messing with that organ. Again. Last time, she willingly offered it to him, only to receive a refusal.

  No thank you.

  No matter how damn hot he was, or how much her body longed to feel that sexy stubble graze her skin. Dammit.

  She tossed her plate in the trash, swiped her drink off the counter, and proceeded to suck down the last of her lemonade. All was going well, until he made a strangled noise, and she glanced to find his gaze on her mouth.

  A flood of awareness hit her body, jolting it awake, concentrating on her neglected areas, until she was ready to either smack him, or ride him. Deciding to do neither, she listened to the devil on her shoulder and sucked harder, louder, then slowly removed the straw from her mouth, before throwing the cup away.

  Yeah, she was bad. Downright wicked, even, because she walked straight for him, smiled up into his dazed face, and reached out to grab her satellite phone he gripped near his hip. “Ready.”

  Without waiting for a reply, she turned around and nodded to Joe as she stuffed the phone into her backpack on her way to the door.

  “We’re going to see my dad,” Matteo told Joe, right on her six. “Russell should be in soon.” Reaching around her to open the door, he leaned close and whispered in her ear, “Be careful, Bella. You shouldn’t play with fire.”

  Ignoring him would’ve been the smart thing. Yep. Ignore him
and keep walking through the door, but did she listen? No. Instead, she listened to the damn devil on her shoulder again, who continued to give bad advice, because she stopped dead, causing Matteo to crash the front of his hard, rigid body into her back.

  Operating on awareness overload, she trembled as she turned her head to glance over her shoulder at him, telling herself she didn’t love the feel of that delicious stubble brushing her face. “Marines don’t play…Frogman.”

  With that, Bella pushed the door open the rest of the way and stepped out onto the boardwalk, welcoming the sharp wind blowing off the Atlantic. The cold air slapped the stupid from her brain, cooled her neglected libido, and restored her focus.

  Was her stupid, idiotic teenage persona going to rear its hopeless head around Matteo the whole damn time he was near? God, she hoped not. It was damned embarrassing, and dangerous to the success of her assignment.

  Killing Rasheed was her mission. Not flirting with Matteo.

  Drawing in a good, deep lungful of the magic air, she slung her backpack over her shoulder and walked next to an equally composed former SEAL. Together, they nodded to Omar and two of his sons, Paresh and Jalil, as they passed his sundry shop. The Guptas had been around for as long as Bella could remember. Her dad and Matteo’s, used to go deep-sea fishing every spring. Back when the world was a fairy tale and nightmares didn’t exist.

  Now, they were a way of life and fairy tales were fiction.

  “Thanks again, for the use of your phone,” Matteo said, snapping her out of her melancholy, as they turned the corner to head down the ramp toward the parking lot.

  She shrugged, and decided to do a little fishing herself. “No problem. I take it you had a good conversation?”

  Now he shrugged. “Yeah.” He cupped her elbow and nodded toward the lot behind the buildings. “I’m parked here.”

  “So, is there a reason we went around the buildings instead of using the back door in Santarelli’s?” she asked, trying to dissuade her heart from fluttering as he led her to a sexy black Charger, but failed when he unlocked and opened the passenger door for her.

  Sweet man.

  Stupid organ.

  “Yes,” he replied, after getting in and starting the car. “I wanted a quick peek inside Omar’s shop.”

  Omar’s?

  A heavy feeling settled in her stomach. “Why? Because of the phone call? Or your dad?” Either way, she decided it wasn’t good.

  Turning to face him, she studied his profile while he drove through town, noting his hunched shoulders and dark circles beneath his eyes from his obvious lack of sleep. And worry.

  He lifted a shoulder. “It sucks. I know,” he said, steering wheel creaking in his tight grasp. “But, until I find out what really happened, I’m conditioned to think the worst. So…everybody’s suspect.”

  She sighed. “I agree. We aren’t taking any chances with your dad.”

  His gaze snapped to hers, and a slight twinkle lightened the dark depths. “We?”

  “Damn straight.” She smiled. “If anyone hurt him, they’re going to have to answer to me, too.”

  “After I spend some quality time with them.”

  “Of course,” she said. “Mr. Frogman. Sir.”

  He chuckled, and the sound sent a damn zing spiraling through her chest, cracking the shell surrounding her heart. His eyes continued to sparkle. “You can call me Master Chief. Or just…Master.”

  Laughter burst from her chest, echoing through the car as she worked to catch her breath. “That’s a good one. I’d tell you to kiss my ass, but I have a feeling you’d enjoy that too much.”

  “So would you,” he murmured in a low, sexy tone. “Believe me, baby. So would you.”

  And just like that, all the amusement warming her veins switched to arousal, turning her blood into liquid heat. She shifted in her seat and told her good parts to forget it. They’d never get a shot at him. The man was just playing. He’d never go against his father’s wishes.

  Although, she doubted his dad would have a problem with them getting together now that she was well out of her teens. Still, things were different now. She was different now. Matteo deserved better. It wasn’t worth the pursuit.

  Deciding not to fight a losing battle, Bella didn’t bother to reply, and changed the subject instead. “Did you notice anything amiss at Omar’s shop?”

  “No,” he replied, turning into the parking lot of the Atlantic Rehabilitation Medical Center. “Half of me is relieved, but the other half is frustrated as hell.” Muttering under his breath, he pulled into a spot and jammed the car in park, “If only the stubborn fool had put an actual security system in place.”

  Without thinking, Bella reached out to set her hand on his shoulder and squeeze. “We’ll figure it out.”

  He nodded, and released the steering wheel to set his hand on her knee, as if the reaction was as natural as breathing. Exactly how it felt. Natural. A comfort, not a sexual advance. She wasn’t even tempted to break his hand, like she would’ve with anyone else who touched her there without an invitation.

  “Bella.” He sat there, staring at her with his mouth open as if he wanted to tell her something, a flicker of guilt clouding his gaze. But then he blinked, and it was gone. “We should go in,” he said, releasing her to grab his keys.

  What the hell was that all about?

  Unsure she even wanted to know, she nodded. “Can you pop the trunk? I’d like to leave my backpack.”

  Weapons weren’t usually required inside a hospital, and if they happened to have security set up to search bags, she wasn’t in the mood to explain her stash.

  “Sure.” He hit a button on the lower left side of his dash, and a soft thud sounded a second before the trunk opened.

  “Thanks.” She got out, tossed her pack inside, and slammed the trunk shut, before joining him on the sidewalk in front of his car. “Maybe you should tell me what to expect.” There were different types of strokes, and different levels of damage.

  His sigh fogged the cold air as they walked toward the entrance. “Just imagine the worst. His speech is slurred and he can’t walk.”

  The worst was losing your father. His was alive, which was a gift. Anything else her godfather could overcome. “Yet,” she said, meeting his gaze as he held the door open for her. “He’s too stubborn to stay that way.”

  A smile tugged his lips. “True.” After he signed them in at the front desk, he cupped her elbow and led her down a corridor where he took a left, and then a right, before stopping at a private room. “Just remember, it’s like you said. He won’t always be like this.”

  Before anxiety had a chance to settle in her belly, he tugged her into the room.

  Chapter Four

  Bella thought she’d prepared herself. After all, it wasn’t like she hadn’t seen plenty of men paralyzed before. Hell, half of them were at her hands. But they were terrorists, and murderers who raped and massacred, with no regard for human life.

  Not an honorable man who stepped into the role of father when she lost hers. A strong, funny man, who volunteered as a firefighter, coached a little league team, taught English to immigrants at night at the community center.

  A heaviness settled over her shoulders, weighing down into her chest as she approached the big man lying in the bed.

  “Look who I ran into today, Dad,” Matteo said, standing next to her.

  Bella wasn’t sure what she’d expected, but it wasn’t to see Angelo Santarelli looking…normal? The fifty-five-year-old appeared just as fit and imposing as ever. His face wasn’t twisted, nor was any part of his body. The only evidence of something off was the scar in the salt-n-pepper hairline near his right temple.

  But then he tried to talk. “B-ba…B-ba…” He threw his body back and forth, as if trying to sit up. His frustrated growl echoed through the room.

  “It’s all right, Dad. Calm down. I’ll help you sit up,” Matteo stated, doing just that, with her help.

  Once they raised
the bed, and her godfather was settled into a sitting position, she studied him carefully, watching the muscles in his face as he tried to speak again.

  “N-n-na…n-n-na…” Color flooded his cheeks, and his dark eyes flashed his impatience. “N-n-ne...”

  An inkling of an idea manifested in her head, too crazy to be real. And yet… “Matteo, tell me exactly what the doctor said. Is there evidence of a stroke? A bleed on the brain? Both?”

  “Subdural hematoma from the head injury, and ischemic stroke caused by a blood clot,” he replied. “But he got to the hospital within the first three hours, so they were able to treat him quickly and prevent it from getting worse.”

  “Was the clot caused by the injury?”

  “No one knows.”

  She studied her godfather, noting his flared nostrils and several grunts.

  “N-n-na…n-n-ne,” he muttered again, rocking sideways slightly.

  That inkling turned into a gnawing. He should’ve made better progress by now. She turned and headed for the door. “Close the blinds,” she told Matteo, and shut the door before flicking off the lights.

  “What the hell?” he grumbled in the darkened room.

  Her lips twitched. He never was crazy about the dark.

  “Bear with me.” She pulled the phone from her pocket and tapped the flashlight app on her way back to the bed, and a soft glow filled the room. Sitting on the edge of the bed, she aimed the light at her godfather’s face, then moved it off to the side to observe his pupils.

  Shit. Her heart dropped to her stomach. They dilated. Both times. She knew why he wasn’t improving. Hell, she should…she worked with toxins enough to recognize the symptoms.

  Angelo Santarelli was poisoned.

  **

  Matteo scratched his temple as he leaned against the wall and watched Bella flick light into his father’s eyes. Why was she checking his dilation? What was she looking for? She wasn’t a doctor. How did she even know to check…whatever the hell she was checking?