Chapter 4
CHAPTER FOUR
His brothers were a pain in the ass. Gunnar asked himself the same question he asked multiple times a day.
“Why did I think working with them full time wouldn’t drive me insane?
” He walked under what had been the archway leading to the cloister and under the covered walkway to the door to his private quarters at the rear of the complex and pressed his thumb to the locking mechanism.
The second he shut the door behind him, he released the tension in his shoulders.
He loved his place. From the second he’d seen the ruins five years ago, he’d known he wanted it to be his.
Now as he climbed the stairs and into his living room, he decided the frustrations of purchasing and renovating a listed building in Italy had been totally worth it.
He and his brothers had spent hours poring over plans and dealing with lawyers and officials to keep as many of the original features as possible when restoring the building, converting it into offices and apartments.
The old cloister was used as a guest wing when they had people they needed to house as part of their work.
The Maltese cross which they’d found on ancient documents and maps of the area, Gunnar had insisted be part of restored stonework during the restoration, in homage and respect for the original building and artifacts.
This place was his sanctuary, his home. If Talon was right and something was coming, then he would defend his home with everything he had.
He placed his phone on the coffee table, shoved his hand down the back of the couch, and located the TV remote.
He had no idea how it ended up there. Maybe this place had a resident ghost who enjoyed fucking with him, or maybe it just slid down there because the floor was still slightly uneven.
But he didn’t care, it was a minor inconvenience to retrieve it.
He flipped on the TV and went to pour himself water from the fridge.
Downtime didn’t happen very often, but these next few days were, unless some dumpster fire kicked off in some Godforsaken place in the world, for once looking quieter than normal.
He scanned the news, confirming there was nothing making headlines which he needed to be aware of, downed his water, and headed for the shower.
Working out in the Italian summer heat sucked, but if he didn’t, all the muscles he’d spent years building would be flab in a heartbeat.
If he couldn’t keep up with his teams, then he had no business being in this world.
He'd almost made it to his bedroom when his phone rang. Gunnar huffed in annoyance. Of course someone needed him right this second. As much as he’d love a couple of minutes to himself, he didn’t dare not answer when it trilled the ring tone which warned of danger.
He glanced at the screen and frowned when he didn’t recognize the number.
Italian numbers didn’t ring him often. Most of those were filtered through the main desk. “Go.”
“It’s Marco.”
Unease swept through him. “Marco, is everything okay? Your family…”
“My family are good,” the former COMSUBIN who’d saved his butt in Afghanistan and taken a bullet in the process replied. “My sister has a guest at her hotel who was asking about you.”
“A guest?”
“A woman,” Marco replied.
Why the hell would a woman be asking at Marco’s family hotel for him?
There was nothing to connect them together.
Neither of their names even appeared on the same military documents.
Remi had made sure of it. Just thinking his brother’s name reminded him of the conversation a few minutes ago. “Remi said someone was looking for us.”
“Do you think it’s this woman?”
“If so, I don’t know why.” He grabbed a pen and notepad from the coffee table and sat heavily into the couch. “What’s her name?”
“Georgia Buchanan.”
While Marco spoke excellent English, his voice was heavily accented. Gunnar knew better than to assume names were spelled how he thought they were. “G.E.O.—”
“No, no, Grizzly.” In typical Marco style, he used Gunnar’s call sign rather than his given name. “J.O.R.J.A. B.U.C.H.A.N.A.N.”
Something twigged on the edges of his memory, but he couldn’t quite put his finger on it. “The name is familiar, but I don’t know why. Did she mention anything else?”
“She said her mother knew yours and wanted her to say hello while she was in Italy.”
“Italy is a big place. You don’t just expect…”
“You Americans do,” Marco interrupted again.
“Every time I’ve met an American and they realize I am from Italy, they ask if I knew their family from Sicily or Catania.
Bah. The south is not the north and I do not know everyone,” he grunted.
“I have a copy of her passport. I’m sending it to Remi now. ”
“Thanks, man, I appreciate the heads up.”
“She will be at Ristorante Enoteca Il Toscano for dinner tonight at eight,” Marco told him. “I have a table booked for us too if you need it.”
Of course he was going to need it, which Marco already knew or he wouldn’t have booked a table for them too. “I’ll be there,” Gunnar decided. “Book one for the guys too. I’m not walking in there unprepared.”
“It is already taken care of,” Marco replied. “It has been too long since I have seen some of my brothers. Do you wish for me to ask some of my guys to be there too?”
“I don’t think we will need them.” How difficult could it be to handle one woman? “I’ll meet you there at seven.”
“Perfecto, see you then.”
Fuck my life. This better not be some chick I fucked during those hazy days after the divorce.
Gunnar pinched his fingers into his eyes.
Just when he’d been so sure everything would be quiet for a few days.
There went his hopes of a weekend surfing.
He shot off a text message to his brothers, knowing they would pass it onto the team.
As soon as he’d showered, he’d go back to the war-room and see what Remi found, because there was no way his brother was still sleeping.
The second Marco’s email had pinged a notification to his phone, Remi would have been moving.
Gunnar went to the window and peered down into the courtyard just in time to see a flash of Remi’s bright yellow t-shirt as he disappeared through the archway leading to the business end of the compound.
“So much for a chill night in,” Gunnar grumbled to himself as he went to shower. “I have to go to fricking Pisa because some bird is looking for me. Damn it.”
* * *
“It has to be her.”
“I hear what you’re saying, bro.” Gunnar flipped on the flicker and turned into the square.
He whipped the truck into a shaded spot which opened up next to a tree.
Even though the heat of the day had dissipated, living here in Italy, he’d learned to keep his truck under shade if he didn’t want to burn the backs of his thighs on the leather seats when he got back into it.
“But just because her name is spelled the same doesn’t mean it’s her. ”
“The passport is hers, and Mom said she lives in Europe,” Remi reminded him. “Her mom told her she’s been in Germany for years.”
“Passports can be cloned, and you know better than most that shit isn’t always what it seems to be.
We’ll find out soon enough.” He wasn’t quite ready to shake off the gut feeling which urged caution.
Gunnar locked the truck and turned toward the restaurant.
He and Remi had traveled together. Talon and Colt were already in situ along with Tyrone and Levi.
Everything they had found on Jorja Buchanan indicated she wasn’t affiliated with any alphabet agency.
That didn’t mean she didn’t work for another government or country, but he was willing to bet that answer was no.
He opened the restaurant door and held it for Remi to enter ahead of him.
The urge to palm a weapon and clear the room was still his reflex, but he’d learned to combat it by focusing on the tension levels of his brothers’ shoulders.
He ignored Talon and Colt where they sat with coffee and an appetizer platter at the table just inside the door with Zombie sprawled under the table at their feet.
The dog lifted his head when they entered, but remained where he was.
Across the room at the bar, Marco straightened and grinned at him. “Ciao, Grizzly, come stai?”
“Bene, amico, e tu?” Gunnar automatically responded to Marco’s greeting with some of the few Italian words he was confident in, and switched to English. “Thank you for having us tonight.”
“Did speaking Italian hurt your brain?” Marco knocked his knuckles off Remi’s. “Ciao, Zipper.” He led them to the counter. “It’s no problem, you are always welcome here. Do you want coffee, wine, or beer?” Marco leaned over the counter. “I brought you some wine from my father’s vineyard.”
“That better not be the piss-water you gave me in Sicily,” Gunnar grumbled. If he squinted, he could still feel the hangover, even if the wine had been drank almost a decade ago. “If it is, I’ll stick with coffee.”
“Weakling.” Marco grabbed some glasses, poured wine into each, and handed them to Gunnar and Remi. He spoke to the server who was polishing cutlery behind the bar in Italian. She nodded and went with another bottle of Marco’s wine to the table where Tyrone and Levi sat near the window behind them.
Gunnar scanned the restaurant. “It’s quiet this evening.”
“I asked them to cancel the other tables.” Marco swirled his glass and inhaled the aroma of the wine. “Last time I had dinner with all of you, an RPG was served up before the main course,” he said dryly. “I do not think we want that to happen here. My family don’t mind having a quiet evening.”
“I’ll cover…”
“Shut it. You won’t.” Marco cut him off with a slash of his hand in true Italian style. “It has been busy. A quieter evening is welcome.”
Gunnar cautiously sipped the wine from his glass and swallowed gratefully when its tart dryness exploded over his tastebuds. “It’s good.” He gestured to Marco with the wine. “Much better than the vinegar from Sicily.”
“Spoke like a true Northerner.” Marco grinned. “We may allow you to stay in my Bella Italia after all.”
“Asshole, we have permits to stay.” Gunnar smirked at his friend. “You can’t get rid of us now.”
“Damn, I need to talk to the comune at La Spezia and tell them they made some mistake.” Marco smiled at the server when she returned from behind the counter. “I hope you are hungry. The chef has created some of his special dishes for you and for our other guest,” Marco said.
“No menus, huh?” Remi shifted against the counter, turning to give himself a better view of the door. “Do you think she will go for that?”
“We will tell her…” Marco snapped his mouth shut when a woman paused outside the restaurant and peered from her phone, to the sign, over the door, and back again. “She is here.”
“Game time,” Gunnar whispered softly. He nodded when Marco handed him the wine bottle and pointed to a table in the corner, set for three. He and Remi went to take their seats as Marco went to greet the woman. Gunnar pulled back the chair facing the room. He studied the woman.
She didn’t look like a threat.
Dressed in jeans and a simple t-shirt with her black hair in a messy bun, he watched as she bent to greet Zombie who’d come out from under his brothers’ table to greet her.
While she might think this was just another friendly dog, he knew better as Zombie snuffled and sniffed around her hands and the large purse on her elbow.
“Oh, aren’t you a sweetie?” The woman scratched Zombie’s ears and the dog’s happy sigh was loud enough for Gunnar to hear.
Now that he had confirmation that she wasn’t packing weapons, Gunnar allowed himself to relax a little.
Zombie would have alerted if he’d picked up on any concerns.
“She’s clear.” He used his hands to tell Remi silently.
His brother nodded and tapped a text message into his phone.
Almost immediately an obnoxious beep-beep sounded at the other side of the room.
Talon turned on his chair and frowned at Zombie.
Gunnar saw the slight tug he gave on the dog’s leash before Zombie returned to his spot under the table.
“Good evening.” Marco greeted the woman with a warm smile and a wink. “Welcome to Ristorante Enoteca Il Toscano. I am Marco. You are Jorja Buchanan, yes?” He placed his hand on her lower back, guiding her forward. “Let me show you to your table.”
Gunnar clenched his hands into fists when the woman bestowed a smile on Marco. If that asshole went in for the kisses on each of her cheeks, he was going to murder him on the spot.
“Why the fuck do you sound like Zombie when he’s got a bone and doesn’t want to share his dinner?” Remi whispered.
“What?”
“You’re growling, bro.”
He forced the sound coming out of his mouth to stop and glared at Remi. “I am not.”
“Yes, bro, you are.”
Sometimes having brothers sucked. Maybe his momma wouldn’t mind if he tossed Remi in the ocean with his hands and feet zip-tied.
Gunnar decided his mom probably would mind, and watched the woman who was looking for him, trying to not make it obvious.
As Marco pushed her chair in and spoke to her, Gunnar fought against the weird as fuck urge to beat the shit out of his friend.
Time screeched to a halt when the woman glanced at him and their gazes met.
What the hell am I doing? Focus, damn it. She’s a threat, not someone to…
His dick rose to half-mast at the vision which taunted him behind his eyelids when he closed his eyes to break the connection which if he hadn’t been sitting down would have knocked him on his ass.
This could not be Jorja Buchanan. Even though he knew it was, the photos matched.
She had already confirmed. Still, he wouldn’t allow his attraction to her to get in his way.
She was looking for him. For the Four X’s.
That was not something he would take lightly.
He tried not to make it obvious that he was studying her as she chatted to Marco.
But she obviously felt the connection as her eyes darted toward him multiple times. Either she knew who he was or…
Fuckballs!