Her hands shook as she tried to pull on her ankle-high boots.
“You are so not cut out for field work,” she mumbled, then remembered the bug and slammed her mouth shut. Shit. She had to get out of here.
Snagging her handbag, she looked around for anything else she might have left, besides her dignity and sanity.
Oh, his Allenwood federal prison T-shirt.
Should she take it? Or leave it? Instinct and self-preservation made her grab the T-shirt and stuff it into her bag.
But then there was the bug, still on the floor, still flashing a slender red beam of light. She took a step, then another, and let her boot heel accidentally crush the small device.
“That bug’s dead.” Then she scooped the pieces up, stuffed them in her jeans pocket, and hustled out the door, already reviewing her steps and loving her new plan. This could be good. Gabe would think she was heroic for driving all night. And she’d make it in time for peppers and eggs, and some good old Italian food love from her grandfather.
It was all good. Her big mistake was nothing but a bad memory.
Define bad. She could still hear his baritone voice and his clever little expressions. Define okay, Francesca. Define solid.
Here’s how she’d define bad: going off plan. And she would never, ever do that again.
Chapter Four
Ninety-eight…ninety-nine…one mothereffing hundred.
Gabe bounced to his feet after the last one-armed push-up and shook out his burning tricep, stomping around the fifteen-square-foot back porch he’d turned into his simple home gym, complete with a punching bag and set of weights under the awning, and one bench. No matter where he lived, or what hellacious country he woke up in, Gabe figured out a way to take care of his temple.
He squinted into the sun, already nearly in the middle of the sky over Bareass Bay, as he’d taken to calling his prison in paradise. He used to get up early, but these days? He didn’t even sleep, so he’d start working out at dawn just to get the hell out of his misery.
He wiped his face with a T-shirt and looked around the tropical cul-de-sac. Palm trees swayed against achingly blue skies, the breeze heavy with the ever-present salt smell of the bay just on the other side of a lush garden. Beyond that, the high-end villas and expansive private beach of Casa Blanca Resort & Spa sat like a jewel in the Gulf of Mexico.
It was still a prison for him now that his only reason for choosing to live in this out-of-the-way playground was…deceased. Well, technically, his reason was proximity to Cuba, but the reason he wanted that proximity was…dead.
Unless the child she’d left behind really was his. Then he had another reason to be here. Another reason to live at all.
In the days that’d passed since he learned that he’d never see Isadora Winter again, the pain still burned a hole in his heart, infusing every breath he took with the unfamiliar blackness of mourning.
But he refused to let it break him.
Not until he found out if her four-year-old son was his. The name Gabriel was only one clue. And the age, of course. Now came the hard part, and if his team would just get here, he could get them briefed and started.
He had to know. Had to. If he had a son, well, he’d move heaven, earth, and the whole fucking island of Cuba to get that kid. If he didn’t, then it was time to accept the loss of Isa forever. Until then, he lived in limbo, which felt a lot like hell, despite the postcard surroundings.
He pushed open the back door into the bungalow’s kitchen and sucked in a noisy breath. And got nothing but the lingering aroma of last night’s veal Marsala.
At the sound in the hall, Gabe turned to find his grandfather lumbering toward him, his white hair brushed as neatly as the mop could get, his crisp shirt—Pepto pink today—buttoned like he was on his way to the Oval Office for a press conference.
“Do you want some breakfast, Gabriel?”
“You look too dolled up to cook, old man. I’ll wing it.”
“Pffft!” Nino yanked an apron from a hook and waved one of his massive, gnarled hands. “I dress for my job, Gabriel. And part of my job is feeding you.”
Gabe stifled a smile, not bothering to tell the octogenarian that no one expected him to show up in his office dressed for a funeral. Gabe rarely wore anything but board shorts and an old T-shirt, but then he was only a “consultant” to McBain Security. And by consultant, he meant that Luke McBain gave him free office space in exchange for the occasional bit of advice on how to run the resort’s security firm.
That way, Gabe had a safe cover for his real work of helping people who needed to stay off the radar and turn up with new lives. The US Marshals might think they owned that space with wit-sec, but Gabe knew shit that put those jokers to shame. And, based on the number of clients ready to throw money at him for private-sector witness protection, his idea was freaking genius.
But he couldn’t do the job alone. He’d brought his grandfather into the fold for a number of reasons, not the least of which was the old man was possibly his favorite person on earth. Well, his favorite person still living on earth.
So Nino Rossi, commonly known as Uncle Nino to the family, became Gabe’s personal assistant, a job the eightysomething-year-old man did with surprising vigor.
But only for a half day. The rest of the time he puttered in a corner of the farmette that belonged to the resort and he cooked. Like a god. And he was Gabe’s only sounding board on most days, which meant…he should know what was about to happen.
When Chessie showed up, he couldn’t hide the truth from Nino, and he honestly didn’t want to. He just wasn’t sure how the old guy would respond to a great-grandchild currently locked in Cuba. But it was time to find out. He loved Nino too much to keep him in the dark, and his grandfather had proven himself to be beyond trustworthy with the secrets of their undercover business. If he could just get Nino to get along with the one other woman on the resort staff, a housekeeper, who was “in the know” about the business, then they might have a good thing going here.
But first, the news.
“I have a surprise for you today,” Gabe said, walking to the refrigerator. “Since you’re hitting the stove to do your thing, l’ll dish up good news.”
Nino put his hand on the refrigerator door, holding it closed. “If you gulp down milk from the bottle, I’ll…” He made a fist. “You’ll eat this instead of eggs.” The words rolled out with an Italian accent as faint as the threat itself.
Gabe easily yanked the door open, reaching for a plastic container. “Fuck it, Nino, we got separate bottles for this.”
“It’s not healthy, that habit of yours.”
Gabe shot him a look. “I know, bacteria. You told me. Bring on the botulism, baby. I just sweat out every little bugger in my body, and I need my milk, old man.”
Nino gave the apron tie a good pull, making sure it protected Brooks Brothers’ finest.
He pushed Gabe out of the way of the open fridge to get eggs from the carton. “Gimme the good news, Gabriel. A new client? Another make-believe honeymoon couple like the last two?”
“Hey, that was sheer genius,” Gabe replied. “The MMA trainer on the run from the mob pretending to be married to the hot lawyer who had a stalker? Dude, that kind of undercover gig was exactly why I started this business. They’re not complaining that the fake honeymoon turned real, by the way.”
Nino made a classic Italian mug and shrugged. “I give you that, grandson. It worked out. So who’s our next undercover client? I’m getting really good at that fake paperwork. Can I make up the names again?”
Gabe stifled a proud grin. The Marshals would be lucky to have such an assistant for wit-sec. Plus, Gabe got paid obscene money, and even though Nino didn’t want a dime, the old man’s bank account would have a tidy sum before long. He might not want to spend it, but someday he could leave it to all those Rossi and Angelino kids who loved his cranky old ass.
“Sorry to say I’m not taking any clients for a few weeks, bu
t we are getting a guest, and she’s your second-favorite grandchild.”
Nino turned, his eyes wide and, to his credit, unsure. He loved the whole brood equally, though everyone was convinced they were his favorite. Didn’t matter; Gabe was his favorite.
“Chessie’s on her way,” Gabe said, saving him from making the wrong guess.
“She is?” He beamed. “I liked it when she was here before, but she left so quickly. More computer work for you?”
Not exactly. “She’s helping me find someone,” Gabe explained, mentally pumping up for the big news.
Nino chuckled as he chopped peppers and onions like a cooking ninja. “That’s what Chessie does. She finds people with those busy fingers on the keyboard. Who are you looking for?”
“A boy.”
Nino didn’t answer, but a frown formed as he moved on to the eggs. When Gabe didn’t offer more, the other man looked up with a question on his weathered expression. “For a client?”
“For me.” Gabe took a slow breath and poured a giant bacteria-free glass of milk into a real glass, since that might make Nino predisposed to be happy about this. “He’s my boy.”
Nino’s whole body stilled, the whisk dripping with raw eggs. “Scusi?”
“Maybe my boy. We don’t know yet.”
The old man’s jaw loosened, and a sound came out, not quite a word, not really a grunt, completely a demand for more information.
“Look,” Gabe said, putting the glass on the counter with too much force. “I had a…” What could he call it? A thing? A romance? An affair with the love of his life? “A friend on that last assignment at Gitmo.”
Nino still stared.
“And I’ve been trying to find her for years.” Five years. Five long years. “I had a good lead, but the files were encrypted, and that’s why I flew Chessie down here a couple of weeks ago. Turns out she—my friend—had a kid.”
“Your kid?” Nino asked.
He tried to imagine Isadora with another man and couldn’t. Not then. Not ever. “Possibly. Probably. I don’t know.”
“A woman had your baby and didn’t tell you?” Nino’s voice lifted sky-high.
“Maybe had my baby. We haven’t confirmed it.”
“Cavolo!” Nino choked, the Italian curse cracking his voice. “Why wouldn’t she tell you?”
Most likely because it would put the kid in danger. Or maybe it would put Gabe in danger. Or her. There were plenty of reasons she’d make the choice, but he’d never know unless Junior came with his mother’s diary.
“I don’t know,” he admitted. “And I may never know because she…” Fuck the world, he hated to say the word. It made it so real. “She died.”
“Oh, Gabriel.” Nino took a step closer, but Gabe held up his hand.
“It’s fine.” Of course, it wasn’t fine, and Nino could see that. “It’s nothing.” Now there was a whopper of an understatement.
Nino searched his face, his old features processing the news. “You have a son?” For a normally loud Italian, Nino barely whispered the question.
“I might. She had a kid, and all we know about him is his first name, but birth records are questionable because it’s Cuba, and up to about five minutes ago, everything was questionable about that dung heap, but he’s four, so about the right age.”
“A four-year-old boy.” Nino’s eyes filled. “What’s his name?”
Gabe looked down at the milk and took a shallow breath. “Gabriel. Which means nothing, of course—”
“Nothing?” Nino shot into Gabe’s face, the whisk still in hand. “Nothing? Family is everything!”
“Do you think I don’t know that?” Gabe fired back. “Do you think I don’t wake up in a cold sweat with bile in my throat at the thought of a child, my child, living on this earth for four years and I didn’t even know he existed?”
Nino didn’t flinch but met Gabe’s anger with tapered black eyes. “Then why the hell are you here and not in Cuba?”
Gabe swallowed. “I can’t go there.”
“But that’s changing! They’ve opened an embassy. We’re all good with Cuba now!” Nino shook his head, vehement, as if Gabe didn’t read the damn newspaper. “We can both go, Gabriel. We’ll go find him and—”
“No.” Gabe put his hands on Nino’s shoulders. “I cannot go to that country no matter what happens between Cuba and the US. It doesn’t really have anything to do with politics, really.”
“Why?”
Gabe shot him a get real look, which he knew Nino instantly understood. Certain things—most things—about Gabe’s previous life as a consultant for the CIA were closed topics. “Let’s just say I pissed off the wrong people.”
“Then what are you going to do?” Nino asked.
“I’m not going to do anything. Chessie is—”
“Here!” The female voice rang through the living area as the screen door banged. “Don’t you two lock this door?”
Nino’s eyes popped wide as he tossed his whisk back into the egg mix and opened his arms for a hug. “Francesca!”
Coming into the kitchen, Chessie slowed for a split second. “Don’t call me that, Nino.” She fell into her grandfather’s arms and looked over his shoulder at Gabe, whose own jaw dropped.
“How the hell did you get here so fast?” he asked.
“Because I’m amazing.” She stuck her tongue out at him. “And you’re welcome.”
He shook his head, shocked that his sister had veered from an agenda. It was so rare and…a good sign. A very good sign. Maybe it wouldn’t take as much convincing as he thought to get her to lose her field status virginity.
“Well, you were supposed to be here last night,” he said. “So not that early, technically.”
The faintest shadow crossed her eyes just before she closed them. “Even I can’t make Southwest fly planes if they don’t want to. But Avis had a Mustang, so I blew down here almost as fast as a 747.”
Nino pushed back and frowned at her. “You drive too fast, Chess.”
“Only Fords. And my bag is on the plane that I wasn’t, so one of us will have to make a run to the airport.” She batted her eyelashes at Nino.
“After I feed you,” Nino agreed easily, his priorities always in order.
Chessie pecked the old cheek and tucked a lock of hair behind her ear, her usually bright and perfectly made-up face looking pretty worn from the overnight drive. That she’d made for him because, like Nino said, family is everything.
Instantly, Gabe’s heart softened as he took his own brotherly hug. She cared so much that she’d rushed down here and didn’t even worry about not having luggage. So not like her, and such a testament to the fact that he picked the right person for the job.
“Thanks, kid.” He gave her a squeeze. “I appreciate you dropping everything for this.”
She eased back. “Anything to, um, fix your computer system.” She winked.
Nino nudged into both of them. “Stop the lying, Francesca Rossi. I know why you’re here.”
“You do?” She looked from one to the other. “He does?”
Gabe nodded. “Welcome Nino to the vault, Chess. I just told him.”
She broke into a wide smile. “Pretty cool, isn’t it? A new little baby Rossi.”
“Not exactly a baby,” Nino replied. “Gabe says he’s four.”
Guilt punched, along with a numb ache that Gabe couldn’t get used to. “We don’t even know if he’s mine,” he said quickly, taking his fallback rationalization every time he allowed himself to believe the boy was indeed his and he’d missed four years of his life.
“Then let’s find out!” Chessie gave his shoulder a solid punch. “I brought my laptop, but if this on-site security company you work for has better systems, let’s use them. Or maybe you’ve stolen more files from that Cuban TV station like you did a few weeks ago. Whatever, dear brother, I am on it like a bonnet.” She grinned. “And I’ve been working up some algorithms that might let me crack those Cuba files eve
n deeper. Also, I’ve found a few more databases—”
“You’re not going to need a computer, Chess.”
She laughed and looked at Nino. “That’s like you saying you don’t need your perfectly seasoned cast-iron skillet.”
Nino lifted his brows, clearly pleased with the fact that he knew something Chessie didn’t. “Listen to your brother,” he said.
Chessie turned back to Gabe. “Why wouldn’t I need a computer?”
“Oh, you can take it, but the Internet is notoriously bad to nonexistent in Cuba.” He could actually see his words hit her brain like little bullets, making her lips part in shock.
“What?” she managed to choke out the word.
“You’re going in the field.”
She lifted her glasses and peered at him like that might help her make sense of what he was saying. “I know you’ve been away from the Guardian Angelino offices for a while, Gabe, but I’m the computer girl, remember? If it’s digital, it’s my domain. I don’t go in the…”
Her voice faded as she realized he was serious. She looked at Nino for help, and Nino gave her his infamous one-shoulder shrug that had a million interpretations. This one said, Tough shit, kid. You’re going to Cuba.
“Nino!” she exclaimed.
“Chessie, it’s a new member of the family,” he said, as if that covered all things holy.
“We think,” Gabe added. “I have to find out for certain, and that has to be done on the ground.”
“By me?” Chessie’s voice rose, not exactly in fear, but with the tension that thrummed through her when a curve ball came her way. “How can I go to Cuba?”
“Easily. It’s all arranged. I even have a great cover for you.”
“I’m going undercover?”
“That’s kind of what we do here, Chess.”
She let out a breath. Or maybe hyperventilated. “Am I going alone?”
“No, no. God no, I wouldn’t do that to you.”
He could see visible relief on her face. “Thank God. So you’re able to get into Cuba now?”
“I wish, but no. Never.” Or he would have blown out of here a few weeks ago, minutes after Chessie discovered the existence of a four-year-old Gabriel listed as the child of Isadora Winter.
Barefoot With A Stranger Page 4
