Chapter 21
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
Griffin paused when he spotted Savanna through the open door that led into the industrial kitchen, which was probably a quarter the size of one you’d find in a Marriott. She had on a black chef’s apron, and her hair was now in a messy bun with a few strands framing her face. She was absolutely breathtaking, even while doing something as mundane as chopping an onion.
He replayed Gray’s warning in his head and wished it weren’t true. He’d only known Savanna for a handful of days, and yet, who was he kidding, he’d end up hurting her just as Gray predicted. And Gray hadn’t needed to work alongside him for long to recognize genuine trouble when he’d walked in on them in the pool area.
Griffin doubted he was capable of changing his ways, and he wouldn’t risk Savanna becoming collateral damage because of his own demons.
Savanna set down the knife and reached into her back pocket, still unaware of his presence. Producing his phone a moment later, she put on music but startled when she looked up to see him standing there.
“Hope you don’t mind. I love music, and obviously, I still have your phone.” She held up his work phone, then swapped it for a glass of wine that sat nearby on the counter.
“I don’t mind at all,” he returned, finally walking through the door and circling the counter where she worked. There was already a huge pot of water on the stove, but it hadn’t started boiling yet. “I see you found the wine.”
She faced him and lifted the glass. “I couldn’t help myself. I assume you can’t have any? Is there a handbook of rules you have to follow while on a job?” Gold and green flecks shined in her hazel eyes as she smiled and offered him the glass.
“Rules.” He accepted the glass anyway. “I’ve been breaking those lately.” But I have to behave now. Some damn way.
“A sip won’t hurt.” She shrugged, her gaze falling to his mouth as if she were planning to watch him have that taste.
He’d much rather have another taste of the sweetest woman he’d ever encountered, and he wanted a lot more, but . . .
Letting go of a deep breath, he brought the rim of the glass to his mouth.
“Chianti,” she told him as he tried it. “Tuscan blend.”
“It’s good.” He handed it back after a small sip, knowing there was no way in hell he could drink and keep his hands to himself around her. It was hard enough to manage when he was sober. “What’s that smile about?” he couldn’t help asking when she took a healthy swallow of the Chianti, then swiped away a drop that’d dribbled down her chin.
She set the glass down, picked up the knife, and resumed chopping onions. He ought to offer her some help, but as he studied her from where he’d positioned himself, leaning back against the counter next to her, he had a feeling he’d lose his focus and cut off a finger. That’d be really smooth for a Delta guy too.
“Every time I drink Chianti, it reminds me of one of my favorite movies. I doubt you’ve heard of it. Under the Tuscan Sun with Diane Lane. It’s based on the book of the same name. Also, one of my favorites.” She tilted her head to the side, like she was offering her neck, and slid her gaze his way. Damn, he wanted to trail his lips up that smooth column of skin.
He shifted around to face the counter, worried she’d notice the bulge forming in his jeans before he could put a lid on that growing problem.
Placing his palms on the counter and peering at the pile of onions rather than the sexy woman standing beside him, Griffin said, “Tell me about it.” Why did his simple question sound like he’d just asked her to describe in detail how she’d touched herself earlier when he’d been swimming.
And shit, now he couldn’t help but remember that Easton had been parked outside of her room. Had he heard her?
“In the movie, Diane Lane plays an American novelist who runs away to Italy for a fresh start after learning her husband cheated on her. She was crushed by his betrayal but losing the man she loved absolutely devastated her. And in Italy she brings a crumbling villa back to life while also finding love again.” She paused. “You know my obsession with books, so naturally, when one of my favorite books is made into a wonderful movie . . . I’ve watched it many times, and it never fails to pull at my heartstrings.”
He wasn’t sure how to respond to that, so he remained quiet, perfectly happy with listening to her talk.
“The idea of a writer in Tuscany sitting behind some old-school typewriter just makes me smile too,” she went on, beaming.
“Very Hemingway.”
“Exactly.” She shot him a quick, adorable smile, then blinked rapidly and wiped away a few tears with her knuckles. “Onions,” she said, leaving Griffin to guess whether it was the onions or the plot of the movie bringing on the tears.
“Why don’t you write? Sounds like you have what it takes.”
She shook her head before setting down the knife and facing him, so he lifted his palms from the counter to give her his attention, hoping his jeans were no longer tented. “No, I suck at writing. Totally happy with reading.” She shrugged. “Besides, I think I’ve suffered enough in my life. I doubt I’d be able to handle book reviewers throwing one-stars at me like I’m the target in an old-time carny knife-throwing act,” she added while simulating throwing a knife. “I’m rambling.”
“And it’s adorable,” he said, letting the words slip free and watching her cheeks flush pink. “So, I take it we’re eating Italian tonight?”
“I don’t know any Greek recipes by heart, and with such a big group, I figured pasta would be best. Rigatoni with vodka sauce and a caprese salad.” She pointed to the mozzarella on another cutting board nearby. “It’ll be good, I promise.”
“I have no doubt.” He opened his palms. “How can I help?”
“I don’t think I need anything but the music playing and some good company.” She peeked at him and added, “So if you want to go grab Oliver or one of the guys to come hang out, that’d be great.”
The smartass winked at him, and he was on the verge of slapping that cute butt again.
“But really,” she said while using her knife to slide the onions into a big frying pan sizzling with butter. “This is an easy recipe. Need to let the garlic, basil, and onions simmer for a bit. No big deal.”
He folded his arms across his chest and leaned against the counter again while watching her profile as she sipped the wine and pushed the onions around with a spatula.
For a woman who’d been through the wringer the last few days, she was handling it remarkably well. She was resilient. And he knew that’d make Marcus proud. He also knew because of that, she’d most likely fall in love again one day, and she deserved it.
Just not with me.
But he also knew they could never be friends, and the thought of not spending more time with her after the op had a pit developing in his stomach, and it was a feeling worse than getting punched repeatedly yesterday.
He’d take a million more punches to protect Savanna, though. And honestly, his body could handle the beating. Not that he wanted it, but he’d been trained to deal with a lot over the years.
“You know,” she began in a soft voice while setting down the wineglass to fully face him. “I really don’t know much about you aside from your dad being in the Army, and you were born in Kentucky. Did you grow up there?”
Talking about his past was typically a hard limit for him, but he also didn’t want to be an ass again, especially after she’d proclaimed Marcus was an open book. Of course, he didn’t want to lead her on, so he’d have to walk a tightrope here. Be considerate without giving too much of himself. I can do this. Maybe.
“I spent maybe eight years there before we were relocated to Georgia, then to North Carolina. But we were also overseas in Germany for two years when I was twelve.”
“Your accent seems to come and go. Not nearly as Southern as Jesse’s. More like how it is with A.J. I guess because you both served abroad for so long.”
“Probably. I tend to go more Southern mode when I’m around people saying y’all,” he teased, referring to her. “But your Southern isn’t exactly Bama. Or Tampa. Or . . .” He thought back to her profile he’d read. “Or Georgia.”
She chuckled. “Yeah, I love being a mystery,” she joked. “But it might have to do with my Cuban grandmother’s influence. She played a big role in raising me.”
Right. She’d told him that she and Marcus had wanted to raise their kids bilingual. Damn, he just wanted to hold her and take away all the sad memories.
“I miss her a lot.” She reached for her glass as if needing to drink away whatever sad thought had popped into her mind. “But you know everything about me since you read the report. What about your mom? What’s she like? Did she work or?”
He dropped his focus to the unfinished concrete floor at the mention of his mother. He loved her, sure. But he didn’t know if he could ever forgive her. He’d even considered going by his first name again once he turned eighteen and was on his own, just to piss her off since she was the one who’d called him Griffin all of his life. But by that point, the name James was reserved for his father.
“Yesterday in the truck, you said your mom liked Greek mythology,” Savanna went on when he remained quiet, as he struggled to find a response that wouldn’t put him in a foul mood.
“I’d rather not talk about my parents.” It was the only answer he was comfortable with, but the drop in her shoulders and the disappointed look in her eyes when their gazes met made his chest hurt. “They’re divorced,” he said under his breath, then pinched the bridge of his nose. “It was messy. They tried to make it work, but when I was eighteen, they divorced, and I joined the Army.”
“Oh.”
He dropped his hand to the counter. “Divorce is common. Don’t apologize. I can feel that coming. And it’s not necessary.”
“Yeah, sadly, it’s more common these days, but that doesn’t make the pain any less.” She set her glass down again and took one small step his way. Oh hell, was she going to try and comfort him because of something that’d happened over twenty years ago?
“Anyways.” He needed to move this conversation in a different direction. “I became a Ranger, and then I was pushed into selection for the Unit. You know, Delta Force. Twenty years after being in the Army, Carter offered me this gig.”
As she quietly studied him, he wondered if she’d press for more about his past or let him move on. “And you’ve been with Carter for about a year?”
Thank God. Moving on. His chest fell with relief. “Yup.”
“And have you ever been in a serious relationship?”
And back to serious. Shit.
“Sorry, not my business.” She started to turn, but he surprised himself by reaching for her arm, gently pulling her to face him. He knew he needed to release his hold of her, but he wasn’t in the mood to let go.
“I don’t . . .” was all he managed to say. But she should recognize he’d be dangerous to her beautiful book-loving heart.
“Um.” She chewed on her lip, and when she noticed she was doing it, she stopped and looked toward the stove. “I can add the sauce now. Unfortunately, it’s from a jar but better than nothing.”
He let go of her so she could pour two jars of sauce into the pan. She moved it around a bit, then when the water began boiling, she dumped a few boxes of rigatoni into the water.
The few minutes of quiet had him uncomfortable but also curious what she was thinking. “So, what do you like to do for fun?” she asked after covering the sauce and skipping to another song on his phone.
“Small talk? Are we doing that?” He didn’t mean to say that, but was she going to ask him his favorite color next? He doubted she liked small talk, just like him. And the last thing he wanted was a forced conversation.
She shrugged. “Just want to know you.”
“Still?” He eased one step closer. “After what I said?”
Savanna’s brows drew together. “Yes, even after what you really didn’t say.” But there was doubt in her voice, and he read it in her hazel eyes, too, so he backed that one step up again. “What’s your favorite NFL team?”
She didn’t give a damn about that, and he knew it. “I have another fatal flaw,” he admitted. “I hate football, which is a Southern sin.”
But his words had her smiling and her dimple popping. And his heart aching at the sight.
“Probably spent too much time overseas and learned to like the European version of football instead.”
“Soccer, huh?” She worked the knot, which was at the front of her apron, loose but kept the apron on.
“Well, can you do me a favor? When you’re in Alabama, pretend to like football and maybe root for Bama? They’re pretty protective of that college team, and things might get dicey if you root for Auburn or Tennessee.”
“Roger that. I wouldn’t want to be in any kind of danger.”
She grinned. “They really do take college football seriously there.”
“Sounds like it.” And that one extra step he’d placed between them like caution tape was gone again.
“Do you like music?” She abruptly grimaced. “Sorry, that’s small talk, right?”
“That’s okay,” he decided. As long as she didn’t push about his personal life and his lack of any real relationships, he could handle this, he supposed. “All kinds.”
“Dancing?” One brown brow arched as if this was an important question.
“Rarely.”
“And if I asked you to dance with me?”
He pointed to the ground. “Like now? Here?”
She ran her hand down the column of her throat before setting it over the top of her blouse and apron. “Maybe.”
He took a moment to listen to the unfamiliar song playing now. A sad one, from the sounds of it. “Not really dancing music.”
She peered at the phone. “That’s Kygo. My favorite, actually. And this song, ‘Love Me Now,’ is?—”
“Fucking heartbreaking,” he finished for her. Because the lyrics had him wanting to completely close the last bit of space between them and hug her. Hold her forever.
But before he could either abort mission and withdraw or pull her into his arms, Carter strode into the kitchen.
Griffin turned away from the woman who muddled his thoughts and made him want to ignore Gray’s order, as well as his own fears. “What’s up? Did Gray talk to his old man?”
Carter circled the large counter space to join them and sniffed the garlic-infused air. “Yeah, and we have the greenlight. The Sicilian Archer Group site doesn’t know why we’re actually paying them a visit, though. Secretary Chandler told them we’ll be conducting a random security check given that they house records for DOD projects.”
“Wow. So, Secretary Chandler is really letting us handle this?” He was shocked, to be honest.
“Only because A.J. and his entire team are overseas handling another assignment, and I assume they’d be his go-to for a situation like this otherwise,” Carter explained, speaking candidly, probably because Savanna was most likely aware that her husband had once worked off-the-books ops for the President.
Griffin and Carter hadn’t been directly informed of this information, but after working on two missions with A.J. and the others, it wasn’t exactly rocket science to put two and two together. Plus, Carter had told Griffin that before he left the CIA, he’d heard there were ten guys close to the President who handled the “unhandleable” for him.
Judging by the lack of expression on Savanna’s face, this wasn’t news to her, so Griffin’s assumption about A.J. and the others was probably spot on. And now Savanna knew they knew.
Savanna took a tentative step forward, placing her closer to Griffin’s side.
“Secretary Chandler is putting together a list of everyone at the Archer Group who’d be aware records connected to DOD contracts are stored in their vault in Sicily,” Carter said.
“What about the Elysium Project, if that’s what it’s called?” Savanna asked.
“Chandler said the Archer Group uses a naming system for their in-house designs, so it’s possible they referred to a project as Elysium until it was completed and handed over to the DOD, who then renamed it,” he delivered the news in a somber tone. “He’s seeing what he can find out, but the name Elysium didn’t register in the DOD’s database.”
“So, we can’t confirm or rule out something called Elysium is or was stored there.” Griffin set his palms on the counter and bowed his head.
“Right. But once you and Gray show up at the Archer location tomorrow, I guarantee word will get back to whoever provided Nick’s boss intel to allow Nick to get inside that facility in Sicily.” Carter had casually tossed out the fact it’d be Griffin to roll out for the job.
“ Griffin is leaving tomorrow for Italy?” Savanna asked, and Griffin lifted his head to glance at her.
“Gray and Griffin are the only two on the team who still have top-level government security clearance since they’re also technically private military contractors. They just don’t usually do gigs for Uncle Sam these days. But with that status, it enables them to walk onto a property connected to the Department of Defense,” Carter said. “And I can’t exactly show my face, anyway. The CIA is, uh, still looking for me.”
Griffin bit back a smile at the uncharacteristically sheepish look on Carter’s face at his admission to Savanna about his “rogue” status with the Agency.
“But if Griffin goes poking around, won’t the person who sent Joe and his men for me in the first place . . . won’t they use Griffin to try and get to me once he’s away from you all and more out in the open?”
“We won’t let that happen, Savanna. But I’m certain Joe’s team is working for the inside man,” Carter answered.
“It’s still possible Joe isn’t aware that whoever sent him after Savanna is a traitor. He may only have need-to-know information, and he’s been told to keep a lid on the situation,” Griffin found himself defending Joe.
Carter remained quiet, and Griffin got the message loud and clear. Carter believed Joe was capable of betraying his country. Griffin may have taken a bullet for Joe, but Carter wasn’t going to make excuses for the man, though Griffin held out hope Joe had somehow been duped. “Maybe,” he finally said.
“But once this inside man knows you’re onto them, what will they do?” Savanna reached for Griffin’s arm, but when Carter’s gaze fell to her hand, she immediately let go. “If you don’t think they’ll go after Griffin or Gray, then what?”
“We’ll smoke the inside man out, don’t worry,” was all Carter said, his attention moving to Savanna’s eyes. “And Griffin will be back before dark tomorrow,” he added as if sensing Savanna’s worry about him leaving her. “I’ll go round up the boys for dinner. Pretty sure they’re starving. We should have that list of suspects from Secretary Chandler later tonight.”
“Oh-okay.” Savanna kept her eyes on Carter until he was gone, then peered at Griffin.
He hated leaving her. More than hated it. But he didn’t have a choice in the matter. “Carter will keep you safe while I’m gone, I promise.”
“But safe from who? We’re still unsure how many people are trying to get to me to get to Nick.” She faltered a little as she headed toward the stove. Griffin reached out and set a hand on her hip, hating that she was scared now.
“You know I’d stay with you if I could,” he told her, not ready to remove his hand, to let her go. When she laid the spoon down and shifted closer, he framed her hips with both hands as he studied her worried eyes. “You’ll be here tonight, though.”
He closed his eyes, hating what he was about to say next.
“Gray gave you orders, didn’t he?” she whispered, and his shoulders fell. “He told you to stay away from me.” He slowly opened his eyes as she added, “But the question is, will you?”