2. The Terrorists
2
THE TERRORISTS
LUCIANO
A s his driver sped toward the airport, Luciano scrolled through the unread texts. His brother, Gabriel, had sent several cryptic ones, then Teddy had sent a few of his own before he’d started calling.
Luciano had turned on Do Not Disturb.
“For a fucking reason,” he ground out.
“Say what?” Teddy asked.
“Talking to myself.”
“You do that a lot, you know.”
“What am I walking into?” Luciano asked as he closed the privacy screen. Though he trusted his driver, Stuart, the less he knew, the better.
“Gabriel called,” Teddy began. “Three terrorists on the No-Fly List from the Haqazzii terror cell were detained at Heathrow. They were five minutes from boarding a flight to Dulles. Scotland Yard detained them, but Gabriel is having them moved. They’re traveling under legit US passports with aliases.” Teddy checked the time on his phone. “You’re cutting it close, which is why I had to, um, step in.”
“I’ll finish what I started when I get back.”
“You shouldn’t even be talking to her,” Teddy said.
“We weren’t talking.”
Teddy chuffed out a laugh before running his hand through his long, blond hair. “No, you weren’t.”
The brothers grew silent as the sedan sped toward the airport, then over to general aviation. Luciano extended his hand. When Teddy clasped it, Luciano said, “Join me. You love roughing up the bad actors.”
“No thanks,” Teddy replied.
His brother hadn’t stepped on an airplane in years, and not even taking out known terrorists would change his mind.
The back door opened. Luciano exited the vehicle, and Stuart handed him his laptop satchel and a black leather duffle bag. “Safe travels, sir.”
Luciano entered the building, made his way to the check-in counter. “Suzie, working the late shift again.”
“Mr. Santini, hello.” Her round face flushed crimson.
Minutes later, Luciano walked onto his private jet and said hello to his pilots.
“Are we waiting for anyone else?” the co-pilot asked.
“No.”
“How long will we be there?” asked the pilot.
“Two hours, three tops,” Luciano replied.
“We’ve got good flying conditions, so we’ll get you there as soon as we can.”
“Flight time?”
“About seven hours,” replied the pilot.
Luciano retreated into the twenty-seat cabin, set down the bags before sitting at a four-person table. He extracted his laptop, signed in, and opened the file called Background Checks. After finding what he needed, he called his personal assistant.
“Good evening, Mr. Santini,” answered Dominic.
“I need a large bouquet of flowers sent to Simone Redding,” he said. “Include birds of paradise and roses.”
“What do you want the card to say?”
“Next time, ladies first,” Luciano replied.
“Where is it being sent?”
He rattled off her home address and phone number from the report.
“Anything else?”
“Have it delivered tomorrow midafternoon and don’t add my name to the card. Just the note.”
“Yes, sir,” his assistant replied.
Luciano ended the call, logged into his personal email account.
“Mr. Santini, we’re cleared for take-off,” said the co-pilot through the intercom.
Luciano snapped the seatbelt into place, opened the window shade, and stared into the night. As the bird taxied toward the runway, his thoughts jumped to a very seductive, very naked Simone Redding, sprawled on the bed. His cock stirred.
Stand down. You had your fun.
He hadn’t planned on hooking up with her, but Simone Redding was impossible to refuse. His stalker had it all. But it wasn’t only her physical beauty that had interested him, it was the intense energy she brought with her. Currently, she held all the power.
And that , he found irresistible.
The aircraft gained speed as it raced down the runway, then lifted effortlessly off the ground. Luciano glanced down at the sights below, but the bing of an email diverted his attention. When he opened it, the faces of three men appeared on the screen. All three were members of Haqazzii’s organization. Despite the deaths of the senior Haqazzii and his eldest son, the others—led by the only living son and run by his cousins—were reemerging as one of the most dangerous threats on the planet.
They lived to terrorize, torture, and eliminate innocent souls.
A growl shot from Luciano. He would travel to the ends of the earth to hunt down men like this. As he studied their mug shots, he wondered how’d they’d gotten into the UK with US passports. He had two goals? Extract information, then terminate them.
Something he was more than willing to do.
He spent the majority of the flight working. As CEO and President of Santini International, he could work nonstop and never get it all done. He had big goals, bigger dreams, and a passion for creating. It was a blessing and a curse because he was like a damn cat chasing its tail.
A few hours into the flight, while reviewing sketches for next fall’s lines, his thoughts drifted to Simone again.
Over the past month, he’d spotted her outside his gated mansion more than once, he’d seen her on the banks of the river during his cousin’s wedding, and he’d eyed her waiting for him when he got into his limo at the end of a workday. Always hiding in the shadows or behind a pair of binos, she’d been impossible to ID.
That’s where Teddy had come in. He’d snapped a pic of her and uploaded it to Stryker Truman’s propriety IDWare. That gave him a name.
Simone Redding.
But the background check had been useless. Beyond her name and address, there was nothing. Since Luciano had enemies, he couldn’t begin to know who had hired her to watch him. Rather than try to figure it out, he decided to confront her directly.
Some good that had done.
His lips quirked into a sliver of a smile.
It did me a lot of good… and gives me a legit reason to see her again. We have unfinished business.
With his duffle in hand, he retreated into the restroom. Unlike a commercial jet, he had a large lavatory equipped with two sinks, a small shower, and a water closet. He changed from his white dress shirt and black suit to a black turtleneck, black pants, and black boots, then shoved a black ski mask into the pocket of his black leather jacket.
He pulled on his shoulder harness, pulled one Glock from the bag and fitted it into the holster, then slid the second Glock into the other jacket pocket. He strapped a holster around his ankle, secured a small sidearm in that. After exiting the restroom, he locked his duffle in the closet.
At the expected hour, the jet touched down at Heathrow. Before deplaning, he locked his laptop in the closet, thanked the pilots, and told them he’d text them when he was ready to fly home.
Though he didn’t change the time on his Omega watch, his iPhone automatically adjusted to the new time zone thrusting him five hours into the future. He walked through the terminal and exited out the front, sliding on his shades despite the light rain and cloudy day.
He pulled up the photo of the driver Gabriel had hired, then scanned the line of waiting limos at the curb. A woman exited one of the Bentleys, opened the back door. Luciano walked over, shook her hand. She offered a tight smile before he slid into the back seat.
Though the privacy screen was down, she made no small talk. He fixed his gaze out the window, the kilometers ticking by, the buildings becoming more rundown as they got closer to their destination. She pulled in front of an abandoned one-story building at the end of a quiet street.
“I’ll wait down the street,” she said, her British accent catching his ear.
Luciano exited the vehicle, tried the front door. It was locked. He sent Gabriel a text.
I’m here
Seconds later, his brother opened the door, and Luciano slipped inside. They greeted each other with only a nod. No words needed.
The rundown space was cavernous, gray light from outside bathing the room in somber shadows. Rain started coming down harder, the pitter-patter on dirty windows sounding like the tapping of anxious fingers against the glass panes. Empty booze bottles were strewn about and several long-deserted conference-room tables and chairs stood nearby in various stages of disrepair.
Luciano eyed the three men seated at a table, their wrists bound behind their backs, their ankles secured with zip ties, and black cloth sacks covering their heads.
As he stood across the table from them, Gabriel removed their head coverings. One spit at Luciano. The second was sweating profusely. The third glared at him.
Gabriel stood next to Luciano and held up three passports. “How’d you get these?”
Silence.
Then, the first man said something in Arabic.
“English!” Gabriel demanded.
“I speak little,” said the second man.
“Fuck you,” said the third.
“We can do the question-and-answer thing all day,” Gabriel said, “or you can tell us how you got these.”
“What we get if we talk?” asked the second man.
Gabriel pulled a folded map from his pocket, handed it to Luciano. “Found this on the third guy.”
Luciano opened the tourist map of DC. Six buildings were circled. The White House, the U.S. Capitol, the J. Edgar Hoover building, Justice, State Department, and the Supreme Court. An arrow pointed toward Arlington with the word Pentagon scribbled in ink and a second arrow pointed toward Northern Virginia. On that arrow, someone had written CIA.
“What do you get if you talk?” Luciano repeated. “You don’t get anything. This isn’t a negotiation. We aren’t the good guys.” He glared at them. “We’re here for answers. Talk.”
The first man shoved back in the chair, then pushed to his feet. He screamed, “Death to Americans!” in a thick accent, but his bound ankles restricted his ability to move. He lost his balance and fell on the hard, concrete floor.
“Fuck!” he hollered, then screamed more obscenities in his native language.
“Shut-up,” yelled the second man.
Gabriel opened one of the passports. “These are authentic, and your aliases checked out.” He eyed the first terrorist lying on the filthy floor. “You’re a professor at American University.” He shot the second man a cool stare. “You’re a translator with the State Department.” Gabriel shook his head. “Not buying that either.” And you, my friend—” He glared at the third man— “You’re a newspaper reporter.”
Luciano’s patience had run out. These men weren’t going to divulge anything. They were bound by their loyalty to their terror cell.
“Haqazzii,” Luciano said. “You going to blow up these buildings? Who do you work for?”
“The Bomb Maker,” said the second one. “We work for him.”
“Tell us his name,” Luciano rasped.
Gabriel walked over to the man on the floor, pointed his Glock at the man’s head. “Someone tells us or this one goes.”
The third one shoved out of his chair and lunged for Gabriel.
BANG! BANG! BANG!
Luciano opened fire and the man dropped, blood pouring from his wounds.
The one on the floor started crawling toward Luciano. “You die! You die!”
BANG!
Gabriel shot him in the head and he stilled.
“Last chance,” Luciano said to the second one. “Who is The Bomb Maker?”
“He is in America and he will kill you all,” said the thug. “I die to honor him.”
Movement caught Luciano’s eye. From the back of the building, a man dressed in blackran toward them, a rifle cradled in his arms. He eyed the man on the floor, shouted in Arabic, and pulled to an abrupt stop, hatred spewing from his every pore.
The second man jumped up. “Kill them!”
“Death to Americans!” screamed the armed terrorist.
Luciano and Gabriel opened fire on both men.
BANG! BANG! BANG! BANG! BANG! BANG!
The terrorist dropped, his body riddled with bullets, and the second slumped forward on the table, blood oozing from his head.
“Who the hell is The Bomb Maker?” Gabriel asked, as he holstered his weapon.
“I don’t know,” Luciano replied, doing the same with his Glock. “But I know someone who will.”
Moving swiftly, they exited the warehouse. The waiting limo had moved down the street. It flashed its lights, drove toward them. Luciano texted the pilots that he was returning to Heathrow and received confirmation they were ready to depart.
“Where are you headed?” Luciano asked.
“Back to Italy,” Gabriel replied. “I need a ride to the airport.”
“How did you get here?”
“My contact. The one who drove the van of prisoners.”
“Someone you can trust?” Luciano asked as the driver exited the vehicle, opened the door for him.
“Trust?” Gabriel shook his head. “What the hell is that?”
Luciano tossed a nod toward the limo driver. Gabriel pulled out his Glock, and the driver flicked her gaze to the weapon.
“This isn’t going to get ugly, is it?” she asked.
“That’s up to you,” Luciano replied.
“I’m being paid a lot of money for this job,” she said. “I was told not to ask questions, no chit chat, just drive. I can do that if you put the damn gun away.”
Gabriel glanced at Luciano, who nodded once. His brother returned the weapon to its holster, and the men ducked into the vehicle. The driver said nothing en route to Heathrow. At Departures, Luciano hugged his brother goodbye, waited until he disappeared into the main terminal.
Minutes later, Luciano was seated in his jet, the pilots waiting for clearance to taxi. He retrieved his bags, got comfortable in a leather chair, and stared out the window. While his heart should have felt heavy, it didn’t.
That’s because I don’t have a heart. Not anymore.
If the Bomb Maker was already in the US, how many steps ahead of law enforcement was he?
On the flight back, he texted his cousin, Carrera Santini, a senior exec at the FBI and Sinclair Develin, the man known for being Washington, DC’s Fixer.
We need to talk
Seconds passed, then a response from Carrera.
Come to the house for dinner Monday
Followed by a response from Sin.
In Miami. Back Monday afternoon. Talk then.
Monday couldn’t come soon enough for Luciano. In the meantime, he’d occupy his thoughts with something much more arousing.
Simone Redding.
SIMONE
Sunday late afternoon, Simone was working at her kitchen table when the doorbell rang. She checked the app.
No way.
She swung open her front door to the largest bouquet she’d ever seen.
“Simone Redding?” asked the courier.
“You got her.” After taking the bouquet, she returned to the kitchen and set it on the table.
There’s no way it’s from him.
As she plucked out the card, she admitted that getting flowers from Luciano Santini wouldn’t be the end of the world. It’s not like her boss would find out. As far as Simone knew, she wasn’t sure what her new boss knew or didn’t know, but that was all going to get cleared up on Monday.
She read the card…
Next time, ladies first
…and warmth spread from her chest up to her neck while her lips tugged up in a smile.
There was no signature, but she didn’t need to call the florist.
The bouquet was lavish. Leaning close, she inhaled a heavily-scented pink rose, then a yellow one with bright orange tips. Her eyes fluttered closed and she breathed them in again.
So beautiful.
The five Birds of Paradise alone were stunning, but paired with the dozen roses, the baby’s breath, and the greenery, made for a breathtaking arrangement.
He knows how to get my attention.
She moved the vase to the center island, then cleaned up her brunch dishes and pans from hours earlier. Back at the kitchen table, she continued working, pausing to appreciate the stunning bouquet.
As a watcher for Z—real name: Philip Skye—she’d been left to do her own thing. It was an easy gig that had served its purpose, but as of late, she’d grown bored.
Maybe that’s a good sign. Maybe I’m ready to go back.
Years earlier, when an ALPHA Operative had gone off the rails and killed another Op, Z had created the watcher. These top-secret positions ensured that the people hired to serve and protect at the highest level, were doing their jobs and not engaged in any activities that would compromise their positions or the organizations they served.
Over the past two years, she’d watched plenty of ALPHA Ops, FBI Special Agents, Secret Service Agents, high-ranking military officers, and Navy SEALS. Every gig was different. After a designated period of time, she’d write up a report and forward it to Z. Sometimes Simone would observe an ALPHA Op after a mission, especially when the mission didn’t go as expected.
Pain shot through her chest. She knew, firsthand, how that felt.
Now that Z had retired, she’d been readying her reports for her new boss, Carrera Santini. Reading through the file on Luciano Santini, she wondered what Carrera would say about her watching his cousin. One thing she had gleaned from Z’s off-the-books gig was that Luciano conducted a lot of work in person at his mansion in Great Falls.
Though Z was convinced Luciano was still involved in his family’s crime business, she had seen nothing that would lead her to believe he was doing anything illegal. Admittedly, she hadn’t been able to learn very much about him at all. Once his guests were behind the massive gates and fence surrounding his estate, they vanished from sight.
Where Luciano lived was very special to her. He had purchased the property from Colton Mitus, whose home had been her refuge for three years while she patched together the shattered pieces of her broken life.
A shudder had her pushing out of her chair. While she’d loved working for Colton and appreciated that he’d afforded her a safe place to live, she hated thinking about why she’d gone there in the first place.
The aroma of freshly-cut flowers wafted in her direction and she ran her fingertip over the velvety petals of a yellow rose. One more inhale before she filled her mug and sat back down. She opened the dossier she’d created on Luciano Santini, skimmed the report until she found what she needed—his personal cell phone number. With phone in hand, she typed out a simple text.
The flowers are beautiful. Thank you. I don’t think we should get together again.
Her finger hovered over the up arrow. Instead of sending the message, she re-read the card.
Next time, ladies first
Her thoughts drifted to his hard, sculpted body, his hungry mouth on hers, the sensuality in his touch, and the possessive way he held her. Her insides quivered with desire.
Why say no to sex with a handsome, powerful man? It’s just a hookup… for the fun of it.
She deleted the last sentence.
The flowers are beautiful. Thank you
Before she could change her mind or analyze it further, she sent it, then turned her attention back to work.
Her phone buzzed with a text from her close friend, Frederica.
Yo, I’m leaving the gym. Should I swing by?
Since day one at Quantico, she and Frederica—Fred for short—had become fast friends. Though they were very different, both physically and how they approached a challenge, they worked well together and they got along great.
A short time later, her doorbell rang. Simone hurried to open it.
“Safe to enter?” Fred asked.
“Come back later. I’m busy with my harem of men.”
Laughing, they entered her kitchen. After Fred dropped her workout bag in the corner, she filled her water bottle. Her short, blonde hair was plastered to her head and her workout clothes were damp with sweat.
“Are you trying to kill yourself?” Simone asked.
Fred eased down at the kitchen island and swiveled toward Simone. “I’ve got a mission this week, so I pushed myself super hard.”
A pang of envy shot through her, but she squashed it down. “Tell me about it.”
As an ALPHA Operative, Fred chased down the worst of the worst. Serial rapists, serial killers, and terrorists who escaped prison or got off on a technicality or a botched police investigation, then went right back to doing whatever heinous crime had gotten them arrested in the first place. Most times, ALPHA arrested them, but sometimes their missions would call for more drastic measures.
Elimination.
It was a dangerous job that could go wrong more ways than it could go right.
Fred stood there gawking at the bouquet. “What the— okay, so you gotta spill. Who is this from? What kind of wild sex happened to get a bouquet that big?”
Simone emptied her coffee in the sink and filled a glass with water. “You won’t believe me.”
After inhaling the beautiful scent of the flowers, Fred said, “These are not grocery store roses. This is the real deal here, like, from a high-end florist.”
“I know. My kitchen has never smelled so good.”
“I’m starving.” Fred opened the refrigerator door. “You made brunch!” A squeal of delight had her pulling out plastic containers.
She slid an English muffin into the toaster, popped a plate of scrambled eggs with chopped mushrooms and onions, and three pieces of bacon, into the microwave.
“You missed your true calling,” Fred said. “Chef.”
A flicker of melancholy washed over Simone. She knew her true calling, but she’d walked from it years ago. Being an Op had been the best job Simone had ever had.
As if sensing her sadness, Fred put her arm around Simone, gave her a quick hug. “ALPHA would welcome you back just like that .” She snapped her fingers.
Shorter than Simone, Fred was more muscular, and someone who lived for work. At thirty-five, she was three years older than Simone. She’d never married, but had been engaged twice. No kids, no pets. She was a phenomenal ALPHA Operative who gave one-hundred percent on every single mission.
“You know the secret to my cooking,” Simone said.
“Yup. Butter.” Fred slathered some on the English muffin, pulled the plate of bacon and eggs from the microwave, and sat catty-corner at the table. After taking a bite, she said, “I’m still waiting.”
“For what?”
“Who sent you the flowers, Red?”
She loved the nickname Fred had given her during their training at Quantico.
Simone chugged some water. “I went to Burke’s last night. I hadn’t been in a while, but I got myself on the list.”
“Nice.”
“Turns out, I was being stalked.”
Fred furrowed her brow. “For real?”
“By one of the men I’ve been watching.”
“No shit. Turned the table on you, huh? So, what, you hooked up with him? Must’ve been someone pretty hot for you to do that. Good thing Z is gone. He woulda canned your ass for sure. Okay, drumroll…hit me with it.”
“Luciano Santini.”
Fred’s eyes widened, her eyebrows crowding her forehead. She opened her mouth, but said nothing.
“Yeah, so you’re speechless,” Simone said. “That’s not something I see very often.”
“How did that even happen?”
“He said, and I quote, ‘You’ve been watching me from a distance for over a month. Time for a closer look-see.’”
“I love that. He’s definitely my kind of man. Went on the offense and cornered you at your secret hideout.”
“I know, right? Pretty slick.”
“Sooo, how was it?”
“He’s sexy as hell, very smooth, and sick handsome. So get this, I took care of him, but when he was about to return the favor, he got called away?—”
Fred’s belly laugh made Simone chuckle. “That is too perfect.” She continued laughing. “You’ve been watching him for weeks, he stalks you, you give him a blowjob. That man has the most charmed life. Did you get any dirt on him?”
“Not a damn thing. If he’s doing anything illegal, he flies well below the radar. He’s taken his private jet a few times, but I can’t find out where he goes and he’s never gone for more than twenty-four hours.”
Fred rubbed her hands together. “Ooooh, a man of mystery.” She plucked the card from the bouquet. “He wants an encore. Go for it. I mean, the man owes you one. Who would turn down sex with him ?”
“I got caught up in the party,” Simone said. “Hard not to when everyone’s screwing.”
“Don’t overthink this. Let him take care of you. It’s an orgasm, not a marriage proposal. Seriously, just go with it.”
“I won’t overthink it,” Simone said. “Sex for the sake of it.”
“Exactly. Isn’t that why you went to Burke’s? To hook up with some stranger?”
“I went to Burke’s because I’m a sexual pervert,” Simone replied, and the women laughed.
“Right, my voyeur friend. I forgot you’re into watching.” She pulled Simone’s laptop over. “Unlock this for me.” After Simone did, Fred logged into their website.
“Our site is crap,” Fred said. “Totally outdated. I have ideas. If you like them, I’ll ask for the changes.”
When they’d both moved from FBI Special Agents to Operatives at ALPHA, Z had suggested their cover—personal shoppers for a fictitious group of high-end clients.
Fred turned the laptop toward her.
Red & Fred
Personal Shoppers with an Eye for Design
Then, pointed out all the places where they could make improvements.
“This needs new verbiage,” Fred said. “The graphics are, like, five years old. We need a complete overhaul.”
The doorbell rang.
Simone checked her doorbell app and her heart skipped a beat. “No way.” Standing there dressed in all black was Luciano Santini. She spun her phone toward Fred.
“Oh, wow, it’s him.” Grinning from ear to ear, Fred took off toward the front door. After opening it, she said, “Here to see Red?”
Excitement fluttered through her.
Here we go.
“Who?” Luciano asked.
“Oh, sorry. Simone.”
“Yes, Simone. Is she home?”
“Sure is. Who can I say is calling?”
“Luciano Santini.”
Simone wondered how many house calls he made. She doubted many.
“I’m her business partner, Frederica. C’mon in.”
Unlike the previous evening, Simone wore no makeup. She’d dressed in a pair of shorts and a worn sweatshirt from her alma mater, Boston University. The urge to flee upstairs had her foot moving in a frenetic rhythm beneath the kitchen table. Rather than sit there bouncing, she pushed out of the chair.
Fred strolled into the kitchen, a smug smile covering her face. “I should probably take off.”
“You don’t have to—” Simone’s attention was hijacked the second Luciano entered her kitchen.
Instead of the air getting sucked from her lungs, she breathed deep. Her shoulders relaxed while her gaze floated over him. Not one strand of his beautiful, thick hair was out of place, his perfectly sculpted face had her biting back a moan, until her attention dropped to the rest of him. And that damn moan ripped from her, but she cleared her throat, hoping to cover.
“Mr. Santini, hello… again.” She extended her hand. She needed to do something and she sure as hell wasn’t going to hug him.
Maul him, yes. But hug him, no.
“Ms. Redding.” He took her hand, pulled her toward him, then pressed his luscious mouth to her cheek and kissed her. Slow, purposeful, and utterly captivating.
“Oh, mama,” Fred whispered.
On impulse, Simone palmed his chest. The soft cashmere sweater warmed her skin, but his naked skin would feel so much better. He kissed her other cheek, this time letting his lips linger an extra beat.
When he stepped away, she wanted to pull him close again and give him a real kiss hello.
Stop. Get it together.
“Did I catch you at a bad time?” he asked, the intensity in his eyes turning up the heat.
“Frederica and I are just having a business meeting,” Simone replied, as Fred displayed their barebones website.
Though it could have been cringy, Simone just went with it. She’d stopped apologizing and making excuses for herself a long time ago.
“Red and Fred,” Luciano read before he regarded Simone. “You’re personal shoppers?” His lips twitched, but the smile he was biting back shone in his eyes.
He wasn’t buying it, but she wouldn’t expect him to. He was one of the most successful businessmen in the world. His clothing lines were legendary… and expensive as hell.
“We have a small client base,” Fred said before addressing Simone. “I’ll go ahead and ask our website designer to make those changes.” After a brief pause, she asked, “Red, are we still on for dinner this week?”
“When is that again?” Simone asked, blanking on pretty much everything.
“Tuesday. If you’re too…um… busy to cook, I’ll pick up something. Love you, babe.” Collecting her gym bag, Fred tossed a nod at Luciano. “You two kids have fun.”
And she was gone.
Alone with Luciano Santini.
Simone shifted toward him and his hungry gaze devoured her alive.
Ohgod, what am I getting myself into?