Rushed: A Second Chance Sports Romance (33 page)

"Hi, Jake? It's Luisa Mendosa." I made sure to use my happiest, most innocent-sounding voice. Tomasso and I didn't want him suspecting a thing. If that meant it sounded like I was flirting with him a bit at the same time, all the better.

"Luisa? Hey, it's nice to hear your voice. What's up?"

"Well, I was talking with my brother today on a video chat. Anyway, when I told him that someone in the Bertolis had been in the military, he just went gaga about it. It seems he’s a bit of a military geek, and while the Brazilian Army is cool to him, the Americans are much more so. Would you mind if I picked your brain?"

"Well, you know, I didn't exactly see any big action or anything," Jake said, still sounding flattered. "The closest I got to combat was yelling some insults at the North Koreans over a loudspeaker."

"That's all right. He's mostly a nut about the equipment and uniforms, things like that. I figure if I can get some authentic details from you about it all, I can fill in the gaps to make it . . . sexy?"

I could hear the gulp on Jake's side, and I had to admit I put an extra little bit of purr on my voice when I said it. Use the tools that the good Lord gave you, after all. "Uh, sure," he replied, his voice getting cocky. "I can think of some cool stuff that will get his attention.”

"Very good. Can we meet outside the mansion? I wasn't supposed to be talking to my brother, and don't want to get in trouble." I winked at Tomasso, who just rolled his eyes at the hokiness of my performance. Still, it was effective. I could hear it in the way Jake's breathing sped up, and he was practically nodding so hard that I could hear his head rattling over the phone line.

"Sure. Where we going?” Jake asked eagerly, like a puppy dog who had just found out he had a new toy to play with. I wondered how he'd react when he found out he was actually the toy, and I was the bitch who was going to chew him up.

“I’ve heard about a diner. Tomasso told me about it, but he refuses to take me there. It has been a long time since I had a proper American diner meal. What about there?"

"
There
?" Jake asked, surprised. "Uh, sure. I guess. What time?"

"Eleven thirty. That way, I can make sure I have lots of time to enjoy our . . . conversation?" I said, again putting a little extra emphasis and accent on the final word. I was thrilled when I saw Tomasso's fingers tighten slightly, even though he knew it was all an act.

"Yeah, I'll be there. See you then."

"Goodbye, Jake."

I hung up the phone and handed it back to Tomasso, who was looking at me with a little scowl on his face. "What?"

"You enjoyed that too much," he said, putting his phone away. "You were teasing me."

I smiled and leaned over, kissing him on the cheek. “If there's anyone that I'm going to want to make jealous in this country, it's you."

He huffed slightly, then nodded. "Come on. Time for us to get our shit together. As much as I've enjoyed this day, work calls."

We made our way to the car, where I paused before closing the door for him. "Thank you for a nice date."

"It's not a date," Tomasso replied with a mock growl as he jammed his crutches into the floorboard of his car. "If I ever take you out on a date, you'll know it."

W
e got
to the diner early, a little after eleven in order to make sure our deception was in place. Luisa was dressed in one of her sexiest semi-casual outfits, a short-sleeved blouse with a plunging neckline, along with a set of slacks that left little to the imagination. She had a borrowed miniature Beretta in her purse, a Model 950 that had only a three-inch barrel, the smallest gun in our house arsenal. Ironically, it was also one of the guns that was produced in Italy, the United States and Brazil, which lent a touch of rightness to her carrying it. I hoped that she wouldn’t have reason to take it out, let alone use it.

I came in ten minutes after Luisa, dressed not as Tomasso Bertoli, but as your typical day laborer who was down on his luck. Underneath my jacket, I wore my own pistol, this time a military-style M9. I crutched over to a booth that allowed me to see both the entrance and where Luisa was sitting and dropped in as if I were exhausted. It wasn't that hard of an act, as I'd crutched nearly three blocks in order to make my arrival seem natural.

The waitress came over, not recognizing me even though I'd been in the diner multiple times before. I was glad my disguise was decent enough, at least. "What can I getcha, hon?"

"Coffee and a slice of pecan pie," I said, pitching my voice higher and screechier than normal. Until Pietro came in, I didn't want anyone recognizing me. "That's three bucks, right?"

"With tax, it's about three fifty," the waitress said, waiting until I peeled out the crumpled and dirtied four singles from my pocket. It was that sort of diner, pay as you go unless you were a Bertoli man. "I'll get you your change with your pie."

"Thanks," I said, watching as Luisa sipped at what looked like an herbal tea. I reached inside my jacket and tapped the little device inside, activating the Bluetooth earpiece that I had in my ear underneath my disheveled hair. "Whatcha drinking?"

"Chamomile . . . and Everclear," Luisa mumbled softly before laughing, cutting her eyes over to me as she took another drink. "Okay, minus the Everclear."

"Good. We've got about three minutes before Jake gets here. You ready?"

She took another sip of her tea and nodded, seemingly to herself, if anyone was watching. "I'll be okay."

The waitress brought my coffee and pie, along with my change, which I left sitting as a tip. I tried the pie, enjoying the rich flavor, and reminded myself to order a slice again when I came here as myself next time. The reality was that the diner was mostly a greasy spoon-type joint, and I was glad to have at least one thing on the menu that wasn't going to give me indigestion.

The bell above the door jingled, and Jake came in. He was wearing not the more typical off-the-rack suit that I assumed he wore for work at the pizza offices, but instead, his tailored suit, the one that he probably wore when he was being a Bertoli man. A little slick, custom fit, and certainly one that said whoever wore it was in charge of himself. He barely glanced in my direction as I huddled over my coffee and pie, but instead, his attention was all on Luisa, who half stood up and waved. Then again, with her cleavage exposed and the smile on her face while she half bent over, I could understand.

"Jake, it's good to see you," Luisa purred, practically oozing sensuality as he sat down across from her. "Thank you for making the time to see me. I know you actually have a
real
job to do, and don’t sit around on your ass all day."

I heard Jake chuckle, and I had to admit, it was a good opening line. It went straight to the point, letting Jake think that not all was cool between Luisa and me, and it complimented him all at the same time. "Well, you can't blame the guy too much. Kinda hard to do pickups when you're on crutches. But he's okay overall. A bit soft, in my opinion, but he'll come along all right. So what did you want to ask me about?"

They launched into a discussion, pausing only when the waitress came over and got their orders. "So what weapons did you learn about?" Luisa asked after they'd already talked a bit about basic training. "My brother loves the pictures he's seen of the . . . what is it again? The machine guns, I forget the names."

"Well, I trained on the M60 when I was at Benning, but later on, I fired the M240," Jake said, "but I never was in the heavy weapons squad. I did get to be the SAW gunner for my squad—that's a machine gun that we have at the squad level. That baby rocked."

"Hmmm, which one was the one that is used in movies most? Matteus first saw it in one of the old Rambo movies, I'm not sure which you're talking about."

"Oh, that's the sixty," Jake said with a grin. "We called it the Hog, and yeah, it’s pretty cool to fire. Only time I ever got to do any time on it in Korea, though, was when I was on point defense along the DMZ. That's pretty freaky, really."

"Why's that?" Luisa asked, acting fascinated.

"Well, you're up on this reinforced guard tower, looking out over about a mile or so of totally untouched terrain. Seriously, since nineteen fifty-four, almost nobody's been in there at all except in very defined areas. Anyway, you're staring out at this mile of pretty much pristine land, knowing that a mile or two away someone is staring back at you, ready to blow your damn head off. Hell, he wouldn't even need to, because you know the North Koreans have had the coordinates for your outpost in their artillery since before you were born. They could probably hit that thing in their sleep, and you wouldn't even see it coming. Still, you’ve gotta be up there, doing your bit for God and country."

"That has to lead to a lot of stress," Luisa said, turning the conversation. "I've heard a lot of the soldiers find Korean girls who are willing to have fun with the soldiers and let them release some stress."

"Ah, the camp girls and Princesses," Jake chuckled. "Yeah, they're around."

"What's the difference?" Luisa asked, purring. "Looks?"

"No," he admitted, his eyes caught between looking at her lips as she sensuously ate every bit of her steak, or her cleavage that was still on display. "The camp girls are amateurs, just finding a boyfriend. Some of them were actually looking for a real boyfriend too, usually to get a green card to get out of Korea. Hell if I knew what they did when they got back here. They were actually more of a risk than the Princesses, since those girls were pros. They got health checks from the Korean government and everything. I don't know how that all worked out, but basically, if you needed your pipes cleaned, it was better to go to a Princess than a camp girl. Why?"

"Well, these girls—were they pretty?" Luisa asked.

"None of them held a candle to you, if that's what you're asking," Jake replied, his voice dropping. "Although they certainly had some Far East secret techniques that they taught me. I could maybe show you, if you're interested."

"Hmm, maybe later," Luisa said, putting her fork down and reaching underneath the table. I knew what she was doing—getting her pistol ready—even though I couldn't see anything from the angle I was sitting at. "First, though, one more question. Did you ever know a Princess named Sul Ham Kook?"

Jake had been distracted for nearly ten minutes, and the sudden frankness of her question threw him off, just as we'd intended. He stammered, then set his fork down. "Who?"

"Sul Ham Kook," Luisa repeated, keeping her hand steady under the table. I could now see her tiny little pistol from my vantage point, and I slipped my hand inside my jacket, ready to help if needed. “Come on, you know her."

Jake sat back, trying to play it cool. "Luisa, I have no idea who you're talking about. How about we call Tomasso, or maybe my dad, and we can straighten this all out . . .”

“Don’t reach for the jacket," Luisa warned, cocking her head. "You don't want to know what's in my hand and pointed at your balls under the table. Now, Sul Ham Kook. How'd you two meet?"

Jake sighed and set his hands on the table. "At a bar. A Princess bar, at least that's what the guys in my platoon called it. I met her soon after coming to Korea and needed my pipes flushed. She and I hit it off pretty well, and we got a pretty regular thing going. Then her village was wiped out, and she started talking to me more about her life and family. We got to be friends, nothing more."

"And that's how you got introduced to Leonard Frakes?" Luisa continued. "What, a mutual admiration society?"

Jake laughed and shook his head. "Mutual? Please, that fucking nut job thought she actually loved him. Stupid fucking airman is what he was, but man, was he committed to their cause."

"So it wasn't love. It wasn't money . . . why'd you sell me out then?" Luisa asked. "You don't sound like someone who commits to an eco-terrorist cause."

Jake shook his head. "Nope. Actually, good old-fashioned blackmail. I got bored in Korea, to put it bluntly. I mean, my dad's the top Bertoli lieutenant, and here I was on year two of manning a fucking outpost along the DMZ. I went months without a decent Italian meal, and for what? I knew how to stand guard. Whoop-de-fucking-do. So, when I heard a few rumors about some of the guys getting some action going, I got involved. Wasn't much, just smuggling some automatic weapons out of Korea for the Yakuzas in Japan, but it broke up the monotony."

"They got caught," Luisa said. Jake nodded.

"They did. Some fucking Air National Guard Captain flying the C-17 with our shit on it landed at Yokosuka Air Base and promptly got snitched on by someone or the other. I covered my tracks pretty well, except that I'd told Sul Ham. She came to me just before I left service, told me that Frakes was going to be going back to the States soon too, and that he'd look me up. I thought she was full of it until he actually did, about three days before the shit at the center went down. Then afterward, he recognized Tomasso and called me."

"So you sold me out. Why not just get rid of him?"

"Because something could’ve gone wrong,” Jake replied. "Besides, you aren't a Bertoli, and if I had, who knew if Sul Ham was going to sell me out? I was covering my ass, plain and simple. Just like I will now."

Jake's foot shot out, without a lot of power, but enough that he kicked Luisa pretty good underneath the table. He rolled out of his seat, reaching beneath his jacket, and I had my pistol out in a flash. "Jake Marconi!"

He froze in mid-draw, his eyes going to me. The door of the diner dinged again, and Pietro walked in, his own gun drawn. "What the fuck?"

"Dad, I . . .” Jake said, his eyes going from me to his father, then freezing, his mouth yawning open as he didn't know what else to say.

"Pietro, say hello to the man who sold Luisa out to Leonard Frakes," I said, my pistol still leveled on Jake. "We've got it all on a recording."

I didn’t want to get Pietro involved, but with Dad out of town, I needed someone whose word and authority were great enough for the accusation I was throwing around. I watched as Pietro's face opened in shock, and he looked from me to Luisa to his son, who was still on his knees on the ground. His pistol faltered, and his hand fell to his side, the pistol still in his grasp. "Jake . . . is this true? Did you betray your oath to the Godfather?"

"Dad . . .” Jake said, his voice trembling before he found his nerve. "Yes. I told Frakes when Mendosa left the house alone. I didn’t know Tomasso would come storming out after her.”

I noticed that all of the diner staff had vanished. They knew enough to not get involved when the word
Godfather
was uttered and guns came into view. Pietro looked at me, his throat working to find the words. "Why didn't you tell me or your father?"

"I had to make sure who it was, and to make sure it stopped at him," I said simply, my eyes still on Jake. Luisa got out of her seat, leveling her pistol at Jake, and I glanced at Pietro. "I couldn't be sure who had betrayed me, or why."

Pietro nodded, tears welling in his eyes. "I see. And does the conspiracy go any deeper?"

I shook my head. "No. He was blackmailed because of something he did in the military."

Pietro nodded and looked at Jake. "You betrayed the Godfather. You betrayed your friend, and you betrayed your own blood."

Pietro turned his attention to me. "What are your orders, Mr. Bertoli?"

I looked at him, then at Luisa. She kept her pistol on Jake but made her way around toward my side of the diner. As she did, Jake for some reason reached out, grabbing her ankle and yanking, even as his hand went back to his jacket for his pistol. I raised my pistol up, but had no angle on them with the way Luisa fell.

Suddenly, a pistol shot cracked, and Jake was spun backward. I glanced as Pietro lowered his pistol and walked forward, the total enforcer. He held his hand out, but his eyes never left the bleeding form of his son on the floor. "Are you okay, Miss Mendosa?"

"I'm fine," Luisa said, getting to her feet without his help. She pulled her foot back, far out of Jake's reach, and shook her head in exasperation. "Thank you, Pietro."

He ignored the thanks and walked to his son, who was lying on the tile, his shoulder bleeding. Pietro raised his pistol and looked at me. "Wait,” I said.

I grabbed my crutches from where they'd been kept under the table and made my way over to them. “You’d really do this?” I asked.

"He betrayed you. He betrayed me. What else is there to do?” His hand quivered, and Jake lay on the floor, blubbering for his life.

"Dad, please . . . I'm sorry. I made a mistake.”

I put my hand on top of Pietro's and lowered his weapon. “You don’t need this burden on your soul. I say we let him go, but my father can decide his fate."

Pietro looked at me, then at Jake. He put his pistol away, a single tear trickling down his cheek. He leaned in close, his voice low so that I could barely hear it in the strange quiet of the diner. "Please don't kill him, sir. He's my only son, the last chance my family line has, as pathetic as that may be."

I glanced at Luisa, who nodded her assent. I took my gun and leveled it at Jake, thumbing back the hammer. "I shouldn’t let you get away with this. You may be the last of the Marconi men, but your father is wrong. His family line is ensured in the way he’s going to teach me and the way that he mentored Daniel Neiman."