“Your pick. Meanwhile …” Wolfe joins me in the dining room. “Mitzy sent info on Marco’s home. It’s …” His voice trails off.
“It’s what?”
“Impressive.” Wolfe gives a slow shake of his head.
“How so?”
“It’s a fucking fortress.” Wolfe pulls up a set of schematics on his computer. “Unique architecture.”
“That does sound interesting.” I peer at the drawings, not impressed at first … but then I see the understructure.
Not a basement. Nothing so simple. The complex structure laid out before me is nothing short of jaw-dropping.
“What the fuck is that?” I point to an underground tunnel and drag my finger to the edge of the screen.
“What the fuck indeed?” Wolfe clasps my shoulder. “It has to be him. I mean, we know it’s him.” He rubs at the back of his neck. “Right?”
“It’s him.” I feel it in my gut. We’re on the right path.
Take Marco Rossi down, undermine his distribution network, and the world is a little better off. That’s what drives us. It gets us out of bed each and every day.
We’re the Guardians. Men who will do whatever it takes to rescue those who’ve been taken. The hope for a better tomorrow is what drives all of us.
My brows scrunch together, not liking the questions swirling in Wolfe’s head. His uncertainty isn’t something I ignore. The man has killer instincts.
We’re missing something, but for the life of me, I can’t figure it out.
Wolfe’s a smart guy. He worked in Navy Intelligence before becoming a SEAL. Whipcord smart, he sees through a different lens than the rest of us.
“The money runs through the Belvedere.” He pulls up a map of the twenty-fifth floor. “Mitzy confirmed it, but the twenty-fifth floor is exactly what it appears to be.”
“You’re kidding.”
“I wish I were. Mitzy’s drone made several passes while you were … otherwise occupied.” He covers his mouth, coughing, but the twinkle in his eyes says what’s on his mind.
“You better think real careful about what comes out of your mouth next.”
I’m not playing. Wolfe’s my teammate. He’s my friend. I trust him with my life, but I’ll kill him if he disrespects my woman.
“Take it down a notch, lover boy.” Wolfe slugs me in the arm. “It’s about time the love bug took a bite out of you.”
Not sure how to respond to what he says, so I don’t. Instead, I focus on the screen.
“So, the room the women were held in is what then?”
“An opportunistic office that was repurposed.” Wolfe rocks back on his feet.
We interrupted their normal operations when we took out Benefield’s operation in Columbia. That left them scrambling to fulfill the last set of orders he arranged but failed to deliver on: specifically, six women.
“They took a major risk bringing the women here.”
“No shit.” Wolfe stares at the computer screen. “But that whole floor is nothing but offices. Not that Mitzy isn’t digging for dirt. If she finds something, she’ll turn things over to the FBI.”
Our assumption is Marco Rossi operated the illegal side of his many business ventures out of the twenty-fifth floor. Wolfe and I rescued three women from there. The other three were shipped out on Caviar Dreams.
We assumed that was the base of his operations.
“We have to get into Marco’s home …” I tap the top of the table.
“Yeah, time to lay on some of that Hollywood charm of yours. I hope to hell you haven’t fucked up your brunch invitation. You didn’t hold your punches when speaking to her mother.”
No, I did not. I grasp the back of my neck and squeeze my tense muscles.
I was never technically invited to brunch with Maria’s family, but that’s beside the point. I flick back to the blueprints of Marco’s home and subterranean fortress.
“I’ll fix the invite.”
“You better. We need to know whatever the fuck that is …” Wolfe drags his finger along the screen, tracing out the tunnel leading to a secondary structure buried underground.
I don’t disagree, but I’m more concerned about the reception I’ll receive by Maria’s mother and uncle.
“You do realize you’re walking into a trap.” Wolfe’s deep voice rumbles, vibrating the air and sending chills racing down my back.
“Yeah, let’s talk about that.”
41
MARIA
I wake to an empty bed, feeling refreshed and gloriously fucked. The sheets beside me are cold, with no evidence of Liam’s lingering body heat. I give a little sigh, wondering if I should be disappointed he didn’t wake me.
A little bit of wake-up sex would’ve been nice, but I understand there’s more going on than ensuring my sexual needs are met.
The low rumbling of men’s voices filters through the closed door of my bedroom. Indistinct, but unmistakable, Liam’s out there talking to his teammates.
I wrap myself in a robe and pad over to the door. Opening it a crack, Wolfe and Liam stand by my dining table, looking at a computer screen. Brady’s asleep on my couch. At least, I assume that’s him beneath the lump of blankets.
Not wanting to head out there looking freshly fucked, I go to my bathroom where I see Liam took a shower. Following suit, I crank on the hot water and lather up with soap. Is it weird that I don’t want to wash away his scent?
Probably.
In general, I take quick showers. This is no exception. A glance at my watch reveals we slept the afternoon away. It’s early evening and my stomach grumbles, reminding me we skipped lunch in favor of other things.
Not knowing what Liam plans for the evening, I put on a basic red dress that I can dress up, or down, in seconds. Picking something in the middle of the road, I grab a colorful scarf and tie it around my waist. It brings my look up a notch.
With a quick twist and flip, my hair is tucked up and out of the way in a classy French twist. I take a moment to put on barebones makeup that I can touch up as needed. But that’s it. I’m eager to see Liam and curious as to what our next step might be.
With a final look in the mirror, I’m pleased with my results. I look classically understated and elegant; ready for anything from an afternoon stroll around the French Quarter to an upscale dining experience.
My phone rings in the other room. The dour tone tells me it’s Mother. I debate letting her call go to voicemail, but that will only irritate her more. With a deep breath, I pad into my bedroom and accept the call.
“Mother.” I don’t say hello. There are no pleasantries. I brace for a verbal tongue lashing and questions about Liam.
“Good evening.” My mother’s response is short and clipped.
When I don’t say anything, she blows out a breath in irritation.
What does she expect me to say?
“We need to talk about what happened earlier.” Her caustic tone sends shivers down my spine.
I’m not afraid to fire that shot right back at her. From her imperious tone, she’s ready to dress me down and verbally whip me into submission. But I’m tired of that, and I don’t deserve having anyone talk to me like that.