Chapter Seven

Rossi

The Aruba heat engulfed him when he left the airport, and he was glad he’d dressed lightly in shorts. He’d tucked a power suit into his bag, but wasn’t sure if he’d even have the opportunity to wear it—unless he could convince Stefano to join him for dinner.

The whole unit wore shorts as well, and most had pulled on loose shirts along with flip-flops. They look far removed from a unit of elite operatives, but every single one of them had tactical gear and weapons in their carry-ons.

It was a Phoenix thing.

None of them had been willing to travel without their hardware. When Rossi had contacted Dave, the former SecDef didn’t have his plane available. It had taken a few days for Dave to contact the new SecDef, who contacted TSA and told them to allow Phoenix to carry hardware and weapons on the plane.

Dave was all on board with the mission and had called in a few favors. Rossi didn’t know how he’d ever repay Dave for what he called a Stefano retrieval. Of course, when he told Dave he’d pay for everything out of his savings, the man had firmly told him no.

“Consider this a bonus for all the years of your service,” Dave said quietly. “I owe you and Stefano more than I can ever repay, Scott feels the same.”

Scott was the new SecDef and, while Dave still ran the unit, Rossi couldn’t have asked for a better replacement for Dave.

Rossi’s throat tightened. “Dave?”

“Yeah?”

“I can’t thank you both enough.”

“Go, go get Stefano,” Dave urged.

“Button your shirt, you look like a slouch.” Jagger’s voice brought him back to the front of the airport in time to see Jagger point a finger at Quick’s open at the collar Hawaiian shirt. When Quick glanced down, Jagger’s finger flipped Quick’s nose.

“Screw you.” Quick slapped at Jagger’s hand, but the man was quick and leaped away. The pair had been dancing around each other for years.

Rossi remembered a time when Quick and Jagger had been roommates, but then Jagger had moved out and into the Phoenix bunker and had been there ever since. Rossi had never asked what happened and neither man had offered. Sometimes, things didn’t work out. For a while, he’d thought that Jordan and Jacob would be an item, but they’d informed him that they were best friends instead. Which suited Rossi fine. The fewer couples in the unit, the better as far as he was concerned. God forbid any of the established couples broke up; he wasn’t sure what the hell he’d do in that case. Fear and Lash still had the most squabbles out of the bunch, but those two loved with a fierceness that was mind-boggling, so he wasn’t concerned about them.

The couple he was most concerned about was him and Stefano. He’d royally fucked up and could only hope that Stefano would forgive him.

“Hey, Chief, here’s our van,” Reggie called while juggling several cases filled with electronics until Caleb leaped forward to help along with his husband, Wolf.

Sure enough, a large gray van pulled up and parked and the driver got out to hand him the keys. Once everything was loaded, Rossi tossed the keys to Reggie.

“You’re the driver at home, so it’s all you,” he said, getting into the front passenger seat while the rest of the men loaded up in the back. With a wide grin, Reggie darted around the van and jumped behind the wheel.

“Oh, this is nice,” Noah said from where he sat in the van beside US Marshal Mac Mackenzie.

Rossi had to admit the house coming into view was spectacular and, more importantly, located down the shore from Barry’s home. He couldn’t believe his luck when he had seen the house was for rent from an owner who was out of the country for a while. The man had been thrilled to rent it out to former military.

The cream-colored stucco house had three levels with nine bedrooms, and each level had wraparound balconies facing the sides and beach. His only focus was the balcony facing Barry’s house.

Entering the rich interior, Rossi left the men to admire the expensive decor and made his way up to the top level, south side. He dropped his bags on the bed and opened the balcony’s sliding door, stepping outside. Gazing down the beach, he spotted the very top of Barry’s roof in the distance. It was about a mile away, but nothing a long walk on the beach wouldn’t fix.

“Hey.”

He turned at the sound of Wild’s voice and gave the man a small smile. “Hey.”

“How you holding up?” Wild came to stand on the balcony with him. Of all of the Phoenix operatives, Wild was the closest to Stefano. The man had been like a father to Wild for a long time and in some ways, still was.

“I’m okay, I just hope he forgives me.”

“Have you tried texting or calling him?”

Rossi shook his head.

“It’s been what, six days? Why not?” Wild frowned.

Rossi turned back to the view of Barry’s home. “I don’t want to say what I have to say over the phone.” He wanted to say it in person so he could read Stefano’s face, and if he had to adjust his strategy on the spot, it was easier to be able to see what the man was feeling. He hated phone conversations.

“So, I take it he doesn’t know we are here?”

“No.” A sudden thought occurred. “Have you talked to him?”

“No, not since last week,” Wild admitted and shook back the long blond hair that fell past his shoulders. Wild looked casually cool in a loose, white, button-down short-sleeved shirt with white linen shorts and brown sandals on his feet. In comparison, Rossi felt overdressed and hot.

“Okay, good. I don’t want him running,” he murmured.

Wild smiled. “I don’t think he will. I got a feeling that he’s waiting for you.”

“Yeah?” Hope bloomed in his chest.

“Hey, guys?” Jordan called from the doorway of his room. “We are going to heat up the chili we got from the store. You hungry?”

“Hell yes,” Wild said and walked back inside. “With the garlic bread?”

“Yeah.” Jordan’s chuckle sounded muffled as the pair headed back down the interior stairs.

Rossi took one last look at the roof in the distance and reentered the house. He yanked a change of clothes from his luggage, shut the door to the bathroom, and ducked into the shower.

On his way downstairs about a half hour later, he felt marginally better, although the knot in his stomach from being separated from Stefano hadn’t abated one bit. The smell of food drew him to the kitchen to find a bowl of chili and bread on a small plate with a note.

We went down to the beach. Eat up and join us.

—Reggie

After eating, he found the men on the beach playing volleyball as the sun sank down beyond the horizon somewhere behind an overcast sky.

A light drizzle had started, but it didn’t save them from the December heat and only added to the mugginess.

Toeing off his sandals, he stepped onto the damp, warm sand and headed their way. Wild saw him coming and knocked the ball across the net. The other side lunged for the object and Wild jogged toward him.

“You going over?” Wild asked.

“Maybe in the morning.” He rubbed a hand at the back of his neck and glanced toward Barry’s house. Of course, he couldn’t see it from down on the beach.

Fuck, he didn’t want to wait until the morning.

“Want me to do some reconnaissance?”

“No.” Rossi hesitated, and then said, “Walk with me.”

Wild turned and lifted a hand to the group, but to Storm and Roscoe, the man mouthed the words, I’ll be right back.

After a moment of pause, the group started back up by chasing Caleb, who decided the volleyball should be used as a basketball. Dodging left and then right, Caleb leaped and dunked it over the volleyball net, much to the men’s amused laughter.

Wild dropped into step beside him and they started the walk to Barry’s.

Fuck. The closer he got, the more nervous he became. He was sweating more than normal in the Aruba weather. At least the drizzle had stopped.

“It’ll be all right,” Wild whispered.

“I hope so.” He shoved his hands into the pockets of his pants. He’d opted for a pair of lightweight, tan pants and a white, button-down, casual shirt that Stefano had gotten him on one of their many vacations. The waves rhythmically rolled against the shore, and the sand—even as night approached—was still warm.

About a minute out from reaching the house, Rossi stopped. Wild gazed over the fifty or so yards to Barry’s home and then to him.

Rossi couldn’t bring himself to look at Wild because his whole focus was on Stefano running down Barry’s beachside stairs.

Stefano was running toward him.

His beloved raced across the sand to him and Rossi opened his arms.

His heart thundered and tears stung his eyes when Stefano slammed into his chest, gasping for breath and clinging to him.

He gripped Stefano tightly, and the word Stefano hissed didn’t make sense for a moment.

“Run!” Stefano said louder and grabbed at his hand.

“What?” He was slow to respond.

“Fuck!” Wild snarled and yanked both him and Stefano back toward the way they’d come.

Rossi tossed a glance over his shoulder and when he spotted numerous armed men coming their way, he ran. They could figure this shit out when they got to safety. The only important thing was getting Stefano out of the line of fire.

Before they got a few yards back down the beach, several men converged ahead of them, cutting off their exit. Even in the growing darkness, Rossi could see they were all armed with rifles.

Wild pulled a Glock from the back of his pants and aimed it, but Rossi reached out and put a hand on Wild’s arm, stopping the operative from firing. At Wild’s confused look, Rossi gestured behind the man to a shit ton of armed men now surrounding them from all sides. Wild glanced slowly around, growled under his breath, and dropped his Glock in the sand.

They were trapped.