A near-naked team. “We should put clothes on,” Chessie whispered.
“Come around to the front door,” Mal instructed, walking inside with Chessie, where they stood in the bedroom, staring at each other.
“What are you going to say to him?” she asked.
“That his timing sucks.” He took her hand and pulled it to his mouth, kissing her knuckles. “We’re not done with that conversation, Francesca, but let’s hear what he has to say.”
She’d rather hear what Mal had to say, but instead she dressed and braced for a meeting with a legend who had every right to hate her.
* * *
Mal opened the door to Bill Drummand with absolutely no idea what was about to happen, but he met the other man’s level gaze and extended his hand to shake.
“Mr. Drummand.” He stepped aside and ushered him into the villa. “It’s an honor to meet you.”
Drummand gave a wry smile. “I’m not sure if I’d call it an honor to meet you, young man, but some things have to be done in person. May I?” He gestured toward the living room, then headed there without waiting for Mal to answer.
Chessie sat on the sofa, dressed and looking as tense as he felt. Still, she rose and shook their guest’s hand, managing a smile at what had to be an incredibly awkward moment.
“Can I get you a cup of coffee?” she asked.
“Absolutely not.” Bill sat on the edge of a chair and folded his arms, nodding to silently order Mal to sit across from him.
He wore authority like some men breathed, despite the fact that he had to be past ninety. Mal took the sofa, and Chessie’s hand, guiding her right next to him.
“I’m here on a simple mission,” Bill said. “And that is to offer you a job with the Central Intelligence Agency.”
Mal blinked at the curve ball that almost hit him in the head. “Excuse me? I thought you wanted to talk about your son.”
The other man closed his eyes and seemed to pale slightly. “Roger is dead,” he said. “And he has no one but himself to blame.”
Talk about stating the obvious.
Chessie leaned forward. “Mr. Drummand, I—”
He quieted her with a raised hand. “Nothing he did surprised me. And you have no apologies to make. My son was not a source of pride for me, nor for the intelligence agency I represent. In fact, you’ve saved us a lot of trouble, harm, and embarrassment.” He shook his head slowly. “All to say that Roger’s transgressions go even beyond the financial discrepancies that you uncovered in Cuba.”
Mal almost snorted. Financial discrepancies?
“And his decisions cost you four years of your life,” Bill added, taking the wind out of Mal’s indignation. “We are prepared to compensate you for your lost income and offer you any position for which you’d qualify at the agency.” He braced his elbows on his knees, peering hard at Mal. “Just a simple yes or no, son. We want you back.”
And Mal’s brain ticked with many, many responses, none of which was simple.
He glanced at Chessie, who couldn’t begin to hide the glow in her eyes. She knew what he wanted—and he wanted this. But that wasn’t all he wanted. He wanted a plan. And he wanted her.
He gave her hand a squeeze, and, like always, a thousand words were communicated with just a look. They were such a good team.
“I have a few stipulations,” he said.
Bill inhaled and exhaled slowly. “Name them.”
“For one thing, I want my criminal record completely erased from every file known to man.”
“Done.”
Mal nodded. “I want Alana Cevallos fully cleared of any wrongdoing and her children given security and supervision in case the Cuban government goes after her.”
“The entire family is one hundred percent protected.”
“I want the same protection for Nestor Ramos, along with a generous stipend from the United States government in full support of his education and adoption operation down there, which will now work secretly under the auspices of the CIA until his program is legal.”
Chessie’s hand tightened ever so slightly.
“We can certainly do that.”
Mal swallowed as the next requirement formed in his head. It was so obvious, and suddenly he wanted this so much. “And I would like the government to arrange and expedite the adoption of a young girl in his home named Gabriella.”
Chessie’s nails dug into his palm now.
“And I want to claim her and adopt her…as ours,” he finished with a warm look at a very happy Chessie.
“Mal,” she whispered, tears springing. “Thank you.”
“We can easily arrange that,” Bill said. “I hope that’s all.”
“It’s not.” Mal leaned forward. “I would like Francesca Rossi to be given an interview and the opportunity to apply for employment at the CIA and to have that employment be contingent on basing her wherever I am as my partner.”
She tried to stay perfectly still, probably to match his command of the conversation, but he could feel Chessie’s whole body shiver at that last one. And it gave Mal so much satisfaction, he could have hooted.
Bill Drummand looked at her. “You certainly proved yourself in Cuba, Ms. Rossi. I would welcome you into the agency, assuming you pass all the entrance tests. And you may stay with your…partner. And your adopted daughter.”
She beamed. “I’d like that,” she said, smiling at Mal. “Any other tricks up your sleeve?”
Bill chuckled and slapped his knees. “I hope not.”
“Nope, we’re good,” Mal said, standing to end the meeting. “I appreciate the fact that you came here yourself.”
Bill pushed himself to a slow stand, the move showing his advanced age. “I wanted to meet you both in person,” he said. “You’ve made quite a name for yourselves at the agency.”
“We’re just getting started,” Mal assured him, sliding an easy arm around Chessie as they walked him to the door to say good-bye. As the door latched behind him, he turned to Chessie, whose eyes were bright and smile was even brighter.
“I don’t know what to say.” She put her hand over her mouth.
“How about I love you?” He pulled her into his chest and held her like he wanted to hold her for the rest of his life. “Because I love you, Francesca Rossi. I love you, and the amazing life we’re going to have together, forever. How’s that for a plan?”
“That’s a great plan.” She pulled back, tears streaming now. “And I love you, Mal. Oh, I love you so much.”
He kissed her mouth, tasting salty tears and sweet joy.
“Can you finish what you were saying outside?” she asked. “You know, the thing that starts with will you and ends with yes?”
He laughed and took a step back, dropping to his knee right there in the hallway of their villa. He was surprised at how fast his heart beat and how much he wanted this moment to be perfect.
“Francesca Rossi, I love your spirit and your optimism and your relentless determination. I love the way you make me laugh and refuse to quit anything until you have what you want. I love your fearlessness in the field, your passion in bed, and your fiery spark in life. Will you marry me?”
Very slowly, she knelt down to meet him, pushing her glasses up like she did when she really wanted to stare him down. “Malcolm Harris, I love your strength and courage and heart of pure gold. I love the way you fight to the death for the people you love. I love that you always do what’s right, you always go with the flow, and you turn my whole body to helpless mush every time you touch me. Will you marry me?”
He couldn’t speak, so he just kissed her until they rolled to the floor, fell into each other, and both said yes.
Epilogue
Christmas Eve on the beach. It was the stupidest, kitschiest, lame-ass-iest thing he’d ever seen.
Gabe crossed the sand toward the long tables and flickering candles and six billion white lights strung like they were trying to re-create the whole damn Milky Way over Barefoot Bay.
The scene was flanked by not one but two giant fake Christmas trees draped in sparkly seashells and topped with trumpet-blowing angel mermaids. Of course, cheery holiday beach tunes were pumped in over the sound system used by wedding parties that frequented the beach.
The pungent aroma of garlic and pesto for a dinner he’d grown up with for Christmas Eve mixed with the sea air instead of cinnamon and firewood. The incongruity of scents he associated with snowy nights in Boston hit his heart like a sour note.
This wasn’t tradition, but Nino had killed himself to make it so. Not to mention that half the Rossi family might never speak to Gabe and Chessie again for keeping their cook away on his big night. But Nino had convinced them to stay put in Boston, a move that Gabe knew was for his benefit, and he appreciated the privacy during these dark days.
But tonight wasn’t dark enough.
There had to be at least forty people at Nino’s traditional Italian Feast of the Seven Fishes with a surfside twist.
With each day of mourning his soul-ripping loss, Gabe felt his chest turn more into any icy dungeon to house his broken heart, and his reason for doing anything simply faded away.
But he’d promised Nino he’d come to the party, mingle with some of the resort guests, staff members, and their families. A play area had been roped off for kids, all of them vibrating with Christmas Eve anticipation, none of them caring that there wasn’t a chimney in sight.
“Mr. Gabriel!” Poppy, dressed in a crisp white housekeeping uniform topped with a ridiculous-looking Santa cap, rushed over to him, barefoot like everyone else on the sand. “So good to see you out and about, Mr. Gabriel! Merry Christmas, sir.”
She reached out and gave him a squeeze, which he returned with far less enthusiasm. “Merry…ahem…Christmas.”
She sucked in a furious breath. “That would have cost you a thousand dollars.”
“I bet this Italian Christmas is killing you,” he teased.
“We worked it out, Nino and me, just like you said we should.” She gestured toward the rows of tables. “Tonight is all about his fish. Pasta with fish, salad with fish, rolled-up crepes with fish. Enough fish to empty the ocean. And tomorrow?” She grinned, her smile bright and white against espresso skin. “A Jamaican Christmas, mon! Curry goat, stewed oxtail, and spicy rum, and fruitcake.”
“I might have to take Nino’s side in the Jamaican-Italian War.”
“You haven’t tasted my goat.”
“Oh, the places I could go with that.”
Poppy came closer, sliding her arm under his. “I know you’ve got a heavy weight on your heart, Mr. Gabriel.”
She didn’t know what it was, though. No one did. Just the vault, which now consisted of Nino, Chessie, and Mal. Everyone else just thought he was Gabe the Grinch.
“But I have some good news.” She added a happy squeeze. “Remember that pretty lady who was staying in Rockrose a little while back? The one who kept asking me about you and took a picture?”
The one who left a trail of heartbreak with her perfume? “I remember.”
“She’s here, Mr. Gabriel! She’s checked back into Rockrose.” Poppy beamed with her news. “Would you like to sit next to her at dinner?”
“No.”
Poppy’s face registered disappointment, but brightened again. “Then you can sit with Mr. Malcolm and Miss Chessie. Have you seen the engagement ring he gave her today?”
“I have not, but I’m sure I’ll be blinded by the light.”
“They are happy, Mr. Gabriel.”
Good for fucking them. “I know. It seems I have a freakish matchmaking ability at this new enterprise.”
“For everyone but yourself,” she said dryly. “Would you rather I put you next to some of those fancy-pants billionaires? Mr. Nathaniel Ivory and his fiancée, and, of course, my boss, Mrs. Mandy Nicholas and Mr. Zeke. All everyone is talking about is the minor league baseball team they’re building to come to Barefoot Bay next year. The Barefoot Bay Bucks. Have you heard?”
“I’m trying really hard, Pop-Tart. But I simply cannot dig up a single shit to give about that.”
She let out a put-upon sigh. “I’m going to give you a Christmas Eve pass on that language and tell you this, Mr. Gabriel. You can’t steal my joy by wallowing in your sour sad. You have to shake off whatever is eating at your soul and move on. You hear me?”
“I hear you.” But I’m not listening.
With a quick peck on her cheek, he made his way across the sand and found Chessie and Mal, by way of the bar.
Chessie immediately latched on to Gabe, but he grabbed her left hand.
“Lemme see the rock.”
She fluttered her finger, bearing a sizable diamond. Gabe looked over at Mal. “So you took the CIA payout and spent it all on my sister?”
“Not all. We still need a honeymoon.”
“In Langley, I hear.” Gabe reached over and put his hand on Mal’s shoulder, letting go of everything except gratitude to his sister and friend who risked their lives for him. “I’m happy for you. Happy for you both.”
“Gabe.” Chessie reached for him. “I want you to be happy, too.”
“Well, it’s never going to happen, Chess, so…” A wave of something strong hit him, the sense of…being watched. Instinctively, he looked up and smacked right into the direct gaze of the blonde.
Her eyes were dark and intense, mysterious, and a shocking contrast to the stick-straight platinum hair that spilled over her shoulders. And there was something about the way she tipped her head in silent acknowledgment. Something challenging. Something tempting. Something that said she defied the odds and mocked her critics.
Not beautiful, maybe not even conventionally pretty, but…
No, damn it. No.
Gabe closed his eyes and put his drink down on the table with enough force to splash some scotch. “Fuck this. I’m not in the mood for Christmas Eve. Give my regards to Nino.”
“Gabe—”
But he marched over the sand, making good time, but not good enough. Mal’s hand landed on his arm.
“I don’t want to—”
“Gabe, I have something from Isadora.”
Something else? That rosary with his son’s name engraved on it wasn’t painful enough? But when he looked down and saw a familiar pale blue slip of paper, his heart slipped sideways.
“I found it in the Country Club when I nabbed that gun. I haven’t read it, but I know it’s from Isadora to you. I didn’t know if I should give it to you or—”
Gabe grabbed it, tore it from Mal’s fingers like it was a bone and he was a starving dog. “It’s mine,” he said.
“I know, I know, but I didn’t want to make things worse until you—”
“Leave me alone. Just…leave me alone.” Gabe started to walk away, then glanced down at the paper, the fake starlight highlighting the words.
Gabriel, my angel.
Every cell in his body ached to devour her words, but he turned to Mal, whose face reflected the pain in Gabe’s chest.
“Hey, man. Thanks,” Gabe said, mustering up a smile. “Thanks for what you did in Cuba. And thanks for loving my sister. And thanks for…knowing how important this is.” He held up the paper and took a few steps in retreat. “Merry Christmas.”
Mal nodded, and Gabe walked slowly away from the party, as far along the beach as he could go but still have ambient light from the fake stars. Sitting on the cool sand, he opened the note with surprisingly steady hands and brought it to his nose first, the familiar peppery scent transporting him to another beach, another time, another life.
Gabriel, my angel.
He closed his eyes for a moment, not at all sure he could take this. But he had to take it. He had to read one last message from the only women he’d ever love.
I don’t know for certain if you’ll ever get this letter, but it is the only way I can communicate with you now.
Now? He stared at the words, then looked up to the moon-washed bay, hearing her di
stinct voice, always soft and sexy no matter which of the ten or twelve languages she spoke fluently rolled off her lips. She could say I love you so many different ways, but he’d never gotten tired of hearing it. Although, her natural, flat, Midwestern-toned English was his favorite.
He forced himself to look down and continue, not wanting this last shred of a connection with Isadora to be over too soon.
You will be told that I’m dead. I am not.
And in that instant, the world stopped spinning. And he stopped breathing. Blinking and taking a shaky inhale, he continued to read.
You will be told our son died when he was less than two years old. He did not. I am under deep cover and so is he. I promise you will understand when I explain it to you.
Someday, when I can see you again.
What? He forced himself not to howl. She was still alive? And their son? They had proof of her death! And a grave marker of a child. What the hell did this mean?
Vaguely aware that his body was strung as taut as a wire, he shook his arms and cleared his head before reading on.
Gabriel, wait for me. Promise me you will wait for me. It might be years, but the very moment I am free, I will find you, I will come to you, and I will tell you everything. But I give you my word, on our love, that I am not dead. And neither is Rafe, who is a carbon copy of you in every way.
Rafe. Deep inside his gut, everything hardened. And froze. And made him sick. Was this real? A joke? Ancient history or…a reason to live?
No matter what, my darling angel Gabriel, wait for me. I will come to you as soon as I can. When that day comes, you may not question me. You may not doubt me. And you may not recognize me.
Isadora
The sound of a cleared throat yanked him back to reality and spiked his blood pressure. He turned to see the blonde making her way across the beach, a look of determination on sharp, angular features, her defined jaw lifted as if to say she dared him to send her away.
Ballsy bitch.
But it was Christmas Eve, so rather than be a prick, he just looked down at the letter and hoped she had the brains and class to see he wasn’t in the market for a quickie.