Grinch Reaper Page 11

  It was good to hear her friend laugh. She didn’t do it often enough.

  And by laundry, she meant she was going to head to Camden to check out the gun shop where the two stars of the Taliq and Kamal show got their guns.

  Knight frowned. “Why don’t you wait for Matteo?”

  Wait?

  She raised her brows. “Because I’m wearing my big-girl panties today, and can handle a little laundry on my own. But don’t worry, I’ll be back before he finishes work and shows up with the pizza.”

  Disappointment flickered through Knight’s eyes, and without permission, regret whispered through her body. Stupid emotion. Bella straightened her shoulders and walked out the door. He wasn’t her boss anymore. She didn’t need to please or impress him.

  Then why was there a knot of remorse lodged in her chest?

  On her drive into Camden, Bella contemplated the question and came up with a simple answer. Because she respected him and not having his approval didn’t sit well in her gut.

  But she had a mission to do, handed to her by her current boss. A mission she wanted—no, needed—to carry out on her own.

  Helping Matteo and Knight was fun, but that wasn’t her sole reason. She wasn’t stupid. Even though they never said his name, she knew they were after Rasheed. So by sticking close to them, helping them out, she was hoping they would eventually lead her to her mark.

  And it appeared to be paying off. Those IDs Matteo found in Simpson’s filing cabinet last night—the one’s he’d neglected to share with her—proved Rasheed was indeed coming to her hometown.

  Having worked with Knight, Bella knew about the app his agents used, and in case Matteo was in possession of it, she’d used one of her CIA issued gadgets to target his phone when they’d danced last night. Being in his arms, pressed against his hard body had been amazing, and dangerously distracting. Good thing her gadget was automated and only needed to be within a few inches to reprogram the app on his phone to send a copy of anything that passed through his camera straight to her laptop at home.

  A measure of guilt over deceiving him had gripped her chest during the party, but it’d dissipated the instant she’d arrived home last night to find a folder with photos of IDs with a bald, clean-shaven Rasheed in her inbox.

  She didn’t get mad, though. It was Matteo’s job. His mission. She understood this and didn’t take it personally. Using the device on him wasn’t personal either. Just part of her job.

  Like investigating the gun shop where she’d just arrived. The one Knight’s people had determined was the place the weapons came from that Kamal and Taliq had hidden in their floor boards.

  Contrary to Knight’s suggestion, she didn’t need hand-holding in order to investigate. Even if holding Matteo’s hand had sent a delicious, tingling awareness throughout her body, making her wonder exactly how those big, firm, calloused hands would feel on her actual body.

  Exhaling on a growl, she pushed those distracting thoughts aside, and returned her focus to her job at hand. Checking out the gun shop.

  She knew when to observe, and when to engage, and when to shake the tree to see what nuts shook loose—today’s goal.

  Walking between a gorgeous sports car and a beat-up pickup, she found it amusing that a guy in a suit sat behind the wheel of the truck instead of the Jag.

  Perhaps clothes were more important than the ride. Or perhaps the hair on the back of her neck was standing up for a reason.

  Entering the shop, she noted five people, security cameras in every corner, a closed door to a room in back, and two burned-out bulbs in the ceiling, all before she shut the door.

  A middle-aged man with a broken left thumb worked behind the counter, a young couple browsed handgun choices in the glass case that ran the whole left side of the shop, a guy in an expensive suit, like the one in the truck, talked on the phone, and a large man in a green sweater with a hole near the bottom stocked a shelf with boxes of pipe cleaners.

  Nothing out of the ordinary.

  She headed straight to guy behind the counter. “Hi. Maybe you can help me.”

  “I can try.” His gaze twinkled when he smiled. “What can I do for you?”

  “Have you seen either of these two men?” She pulled out her phone and showed him the screen. “They go by either Tariq and Kamal, or Kevin and Ron.”

  Everyone in the shop stopped what they were doing to glance her way. Exactly what she’d wanted, and reason for her loud, clear, tone.

  He nodded. “Yeah. Kevin and Ron were in here last week. Why?” Dread erased his pleasant expression and wrinkled his brow. “Did they do something bad with the guns?”

  “No.” She slipped her phone back in her pocket. “Not yet. Just trying to find them before they do.” A blatant lie to throw off anyone who could be listening. “Any chance you have an address for either of them?”

  Not that she needed it. Knight’s people already had a copy of the applications and had checked out the addresses. But she did need to shake that tree.

  The guy narrowed his eyes and cocked his head. “You a cop or something?”

  A smile tugged her lips. “Or something.”

  “I’m gonna need to see a badge before I give out that info.”

  “Of course.” She handed him her credentials.

  His brows rose, and posture straightened. “Yes, ma’am.” He nodded, returning her ID. “I’ll be right back with those addresses.”

  “Thank you.” She smiled, and put away the badge she rarely used.

  It wasn’t exactly a shiny gold star with the words Terrorist Hunter on it, but the seal with U.S. Department of Homeland Security usually came in handy, even if her unit was technically a product of a joint operation between Homeland and the C.I.A.

  “Here you go.” The worker returned and handed her copies of the applications.

  “I appreciate it.” She folded the papers and shoved them in her jacket pocket, before pulling out a card and sliding it across the glass counter to him. “And if you see them again, I’d also appreciate if you’d call that number.”

  Not that she expected Kevin and Ron to show up again.

  He glanced at the card before shoving it in his shirt pocket. “Of course.”

  She smiled at him. “Thank you. You’ve been very cooperative.”

  He nodded, and she took one last glance around the shop, hiding a smile as four onlookers immediately averted their gazes.

  Perhaps she’d shaken something loose.

  On her deliberately slow drive back to AC, Bella checked her rearview several times, satisfaction heating her blood as the familiar beat-up pickup from the gun shop parking lot followed at a distance, with a passenger now in the truck too.

  When it didn’t appear as if traffic was going to thin out, she turned off the expressway to lure the men away from the possibility of the innocent getting hurt.

  The truck followed.

  Good. Slowing to pay the toll at the end of the exit ramp, she glanced in her rearview and recognized the passenger as the man in the suit who’d been on the phone in the shop. Yeah, they didn’t stand out or anything. Not with their suits appearing to cost more than the truck.

  Idiots.

  She turned right, then made a left onto a quiet service road that ran parallel to the expressway, separated by a thicket of woods.

  Again, the truck followed.

  The hair on the back of her neck stood up again. There was only one oncoming car, after that, the road would be deserted.

  Perfect.

  Without changing her posture so as not to give away her actions, she pressed the button to lower the window, then carefully reached for the gun holstered under her coat and flicked off the safety.

  Adrenaline rushed through her veins, pounding through her chest with a familiar rhythm.

  Things were about to get real.

  Chapter Eleven

  Once the road was clear in both directions, the truck swerved into the other lane and sped up to pull alongside
her car. The man from the gun shop leveled a weapon at her through his open window.

  “Hi, sweetheart.” He grinned.

  Bella squeezed the trigger on her Sig, already aimed at his head. “Bye, dickhead.”

  He slumped to the side, giving her a clear shot at the driver. Without missing a beat, she squeezed off two more rounds before slowing down. The truck veered to the left, hit a small ditch, and eventually rolled to a stop by a clump of trees.

  She pulled to the side, grabbed her backpack, and raced to check the men for pulses. Finding none, she holstered her weapon, fished a scanner from her bag, then pressed each of their thumbs onto the screen, and frowned at their identities.

  Russians?

  Cursing under her breath, she rifled through the nearest mobster’s pocket, pulled out his phone, and dialed her boss.

  “Need a cleanup crew for the two dead Russians cluttering the Service Road in Hammonton. I just sent you their thumbprints.”

  “Did you say Russians?”

  “Yep. Shook them loose at a gun shop in Camden.” She pulled out her own phone and took several photos of the men while she talked. “There’s plenty of open field for an in and out sweep. The crew can track this number for exact location.”

  “Roger. Anything new on Rasheed?”

  She’d forwarded the ID photos to him last night. A flood of frustration tightened her chest. “Negative.”

  Unless Knight discovered something while she was away.

  “We’ll analyze this new development and get back to you,” her boss stated. “Out.”

  “Roger. Out.” She hung up, and tossed the dead Russian’s phone onto his chest, then glanced at her own phone in her other hand.

  Shit. She picked up her pace. She was going to be late.

  Normally Bella wouldn’t care, but today was the anniversary of Mrs. Santarelli’s death, and she wanted to make sure he wasn’t left alone, or tried to skip out on them.

  Pushing the speed limit, Bella managed to get back to the apartment in record time, but not quickly enough. Matteo was getting out of his car as she pulled in behind him.

  The setting sun cast an orange glow that competed with the brilliance of his grin. Shit. She sat up with a start. He was turning her mind sappy again. Freakin’ sexy frogman.

  With a shake of her head, she got out of the car and met him on the sidewalk where he stood waiting for her.

  “Hey, beautiful.” His tone was as warm as his gaze, and dammit, just like that, her heart skipped a beat, and whole body softened.

  Clearing her suddenly dry throat, Bella tried to think of something witty to say, but her damn mind snagged on the fact he looked good enough to eat. Probably the adrenaline getting in the way because she still hadn’t quite come down off that high. Although, the way he stood with his coat open and the wind plastering his T-shirt against his powerful chest, showcasing the definition beneath didn’t help.

  But what really did her in was the tuft of dark hair that blew across his forehead, reminding her of a youthful Matteo and how he used to coax her into the ocean and they’d swim for hours and relax on the sand until the sun fell from the sky. Despite the tragedy in her life, he made her laugh. All the time. With him, she felt light and carefree and good.

  God, she missed him. Missed her, too.

  “Bella…” He sucked in a breath and stepped close. “What are you thinking?”

  She shook her head, trying desperately to dispel the melancholy.

  He lifted a hand and softly ran his knuckles down her cheek. “Look at me.”

  Without her permission, her damn gaze lifted to meet his, and all the youthful yearning and longing she’d suppressed for years suddenly reappeared. Reaching out, she set her hands on his chest, needing to touch something solid, needing him to ground her because she was feeling way too shaky for her liking.

  “Tell me,” he urged quietly.

  The resurfacing of those feelings brought with it a flood of pain. “Did I even cross your mind once, Matteo?”

  His gaze softened. “You never left it.”

  “Then why did you leave me?” Her voice came out hoarse, but she didn’t care. She needed to know.

  “Because I was a fool.” He moved his hand to cup the side of her head and kissed the tip of her nose. “A damn fool.”

  “Good answer,” she murmured right before his lips brushed hers. Awareness fluttered through her belly, reminding her how he used to make it feel like an invisible butterfly sanctuary in her youth.

  But there was nothing youthful about his kiss. It was direct, persistent, like he knew what he wanted and went for it.

  And damn, it was what she wanted too.

  His fingers moved against her scalp and she melted. No warning. Her bones just melted clean away. Matteo changed the angle and proceeded to knock her off-kilter with a wet, hot, deep kiss that was good. So damn good. She gripped the lapel of his coat and pressed her tongue to his.

  A sexy sound rumbled in his throat as he glided his other hand down to her hip and pulled her in closer. Then closer still. A rush seared through her still fluttering belly. She could feel his heart pounding at Mach speed, and every single delicious inch of him. And damn, the man had some amazing inches.

  Bella was lost, spinning in the sensations that would surely drown her if she allowed. But before she could even contemplate her decision, a passing car honked its horn amid a chorus of catcalls and whistles.

  ***

  Matteo drew back at the same time as Bella. They blinked at each other. That was when he remembered where they were, in the middle of the sidewalk, not far from terrorist sympathizers, out in the open, distracted—easy targets.

  He muttered a curse. “Sorry.” Leaning forward, he kissed her nose again. “I lose all sense of time and place when my lips are on you.”

  “Ditto.” She nodded, drawing in a deep breath, apparently just as lost as he’d been. “We should probably grab the pizza from your car and get inside. I’m sure Knight is gnawing on his fists by now.”

  Laughing, he reached for her hand. “The pizza’s already in there.”

  “It is?” She glanced at him and frowned. “Then why were you in your car?”

  Walking with her to the building, he slid his arm around her and grinned. “I forgot my phone.” He let go of her hand and opened the door, standing back for her to enter. She’d barely gotten inside the entrance when a white blur rushed toward their feet.

  “Oh, dear…grab her! Don’t let her outside!” An elderly woman stood in the doorway of an apartment across the hall, gripping several letters in one hand and a walker in the other, her eyes wide with horror.

  Instinct kicking in, he reached down and came back up with a protesting fluffy white ball of fur.

  “Oh…be careful,” the older woman warbled.

  A second later, he cradled the cat against his chest and spoke in a low and soothing tone, and just like that the screeching stopped, and a loud purr echoed through the hall.

  “That’s wonderful. Ms. Puss hardly ever purrs for strangers.” The lady smiled.

  Bella waived in a dismissive gesture. “He has that effect on females. He’s Matteo and I’m Bella.”

  He wondered if that meant he had that effect on her.

  “Nice to meet you. I’m Franny. And it’s wonderful to see a kind, respectful couple move into this building.”

  The woman obviously missed their passionate display on the sidewalk a few minutes ago.

  “Matteo, can you bring Ms. Puss in here for me?” Franny asked.

  He nodded, stroking the cat. “Sure. No problem.”

  “Such a nice young man.” The lady backed into her apartment. “Sorry. Had my dang hip replaced last month and I’m still getting used to this daggone thing.”

  “Take your time.” He slowly followed her inside and stiffened.

  The apartment was not what it had seemed on the outside.

  Disgust soured his mouth. It was fucking wall-to-wall holiday wonderla
nd. Every inch of Franny’s apartment was decorated with lights and holly and ceramic Santa’s. A tabletop tree twinkled in front of the window, surrounded by a miniature light-up village, and on the couch sat over a dozen knitted Christmas scarves.

  Who needed that many scarves?

  “Bella, can you shut the door, dear? That way Matteo can put Ms. Puss down.”

  Biting back a grin, she did as directed. “It’s beautiful in here.”

  She would like it. Even with all her losses, she’d managed to somehow retain her Christmas spirit.

  “Thank you.” Franny beamed. “I’m eighty-four years old, with a no-good hip, but I’m not dead yet. I did it all myself. My children and grandchildren all moved out of state.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  He could tell by the sadness and longing clouding her gaze that she’d give anything to have her grandmother back. And her mom. And her dad.

  Without question, he’d do anything to wind the clock back five years, just to see his mother one last time.

  Franny shrugged. “It’s okay. I Facetime with them and my grandkids.”

  Matteo was impressed. There were a lot of people her age who didn’t know how to use a cell phone, let alone features like that on a smartphone.

  “Besides.” Franny smiled. “I have Ms. Puss to keep me company.”

  He nodded absently…still stroking the cat.

  “You can put her down now.” Bella came over to lightly touch his arm. Compassion filled her gaze.

  “All right.” He set the cat on the floor, and the feline rubbed around his leg twice before sauntering off into the other room.

  “Thank you again, Matteo. I’d like you to give you something for saving her.” Franny shuffled over to the couch and grabbed a scarf off the cushion.

  Oh, hell no.

  “I save up every year to make these for my family and friends,” she told them. “I’d like you to have one.”

  Damn. He held his hands up and shook his head. “That’s not necessary, ma’am. I was glad to help.”

  “I insist. It would mean the world to me to actually see someone wearing one of my creations in person, instead of in a photograph, or on the screen of my phone.” Then without waiting for him to refuse again, the woman shuffled right up to him and looped it around his damn neck.