Rushed: A Second Chance Sports Romance (32 page)

I shook my head. "No, I need to handle this ASAP. If the relationship between the Bertolis and Mendosas is to come to completion, I can't let this just hang in the breeze."

Daniel nodded again. "Okay. Just a word of advice?"

"Sure."

"Jake's better trained than you are. He's a former soldier, and he knows how to handle himself. You're on a busted ankle, too. If you plan on taking him down, you’d better do it fast and quick, or else have help.”

I sighed and nodded. "I know. But there's nobody I can turn to for help. I'm going to have to do this myself, and then talk with my father and Pietro about it later."

Daniel sighed, then held up a finger. "Don't forget the girl. She's trained too, even though she doesn't look it."

I could feel the twist to my lips as I pondered Daniel's words, then shrugged. "I'd prefer not to involve her, and not just because she's a woman. This is family business, Daniel. She's not a Bertoli."

“Maybe, but remember that she's got reason to be involved with this as well. In any case, Adriana and I will see you soon. Take care of yourself, Tomasso."

I
woke
up the next morning with an ache in my heart, one that I knew was because of not having Tomasso with me. My narrow twin bed was too small, and despite the warmth of the offered blankets and the fact that we were in high summer, I was cold on the inside as I got out of bed and dressed for the day.

As I brushed my teeth, I looked at the reflection of the woman who stared back at me. In so many ways, she was identical to me. Her hair was golden blonde, her skin the light hint of natural tan, and she still had the dark eyes and little button nose.

But I didn't know this woman. She looked happy, something that I didn't think I’d truly felt in years, even though the highlight of her day would be to help Tomasso in the gym, carrying plates to and from weight trees. She was dressed like an American, with a plain t-shirt and casual shorts on instead of a designer set of clothes. Her makeup was practically non-existent. There was little there that would compare to the composed, made up, tightly-controlled and fashionable woman who had stepped off the plane a few weeks before.

But most of all, she looked happy. I spit into the sink, swirling my mouth out and looking back at myself, and wondered. Was I truly happy? Me, the woman who’d sworn to herself that I would never let a man be the one to be in charge of me. Was I truly happy wanting to be a servant to a man, an
American
man at that?

"You don't want to be his servant, though," I whispered to myself, admitting the truth out loud, even if it was at a volume so low I could barely hear it. "You want to be his partner, his equal. You want him to serve you as much as you serve him. You want the impossible, and you want it from one person in particular."

I nodded and saw a hint of sadness in my eyes. I knew what I wanted was impossible. I wanted what I could never have, especially once my father found out. Guillermo Mendosa wasn’t one to give up on his ideas lightly, that was for sure. He hated Americans, and the only reason he wanted the business connection with the Bertolis was because he wanted the money. I'd come up here with the same intentions. Make the connections, get the money, and get out. Our family was doing well, but it was a small player in a country that had much larger sharks. The Bertolis were to be an advantageous alliance, nothing more.

And now here I was, wanting the impossible. I saw a tear fall from my eye, and I wiped it away, not letting the coldness that was still roiling in my stomach creep out. Instead, I practiced smiling in the mirror until I could convince myself that Tomasso wouldn't notice, and then I left my room, heading for his.

He was awake when I got there, already dressed in basketball shorts and a tank top that highlighted his muscular arms and chest. I'd never really been into the thickset muscular look in a man before, but it worked for Tomasso. It certainly got my pulse beating. "Good morning."

"Good morning, Luisa," he replied, adjusting the straps on his brace. I noticed the smell of my baby powder body spray in the air, and I smiled. It was one of the little things he did that showed me he did care about me, even if we never said it. He’d started to spray his brace ever since I made a comment that it stank. “How'd you sleep?"

"I slept fine," I replied, looking him over. "How was your ankle pain?"

"I woke up twice with twinges, but your techniques helped me go back to sleep quickly," he said, grabbing his crutches and getting to his feet. “Thanks again for that. Listen, after breakfast, would you take a bit of a walk with me?"

"Are you insane?" I asked, surprised. "Sorry. Just, the idea of you crutching for miles is painful to
my
armpits."

Tomasso chuckled and rubbed at his arms. "Yeah, those are getting a bit chafed. But I'm not talking going downtown or anything. Actually, that does sound nice. How about you and I get out of the house and you drive me over to Golden Gardens Park? It's on the ocean side—the water’s too cold to go swimming, but we can talk. Privately."

I caught his intention and plastered on a reasonably authentic smile. "That sounds great. After breakfast and your workout, though. Today, we're doing the isometric work for your leg as well as working your good leg too. If we have the time, of course."

"Of course we do," Tomasso replied. "But let's try to get out there by noon. I want to enjoy the warmth of the sun, if we can, and the beach gets a wicked breeze off the ocean later in the afternoon."

I took Tomasso to the dining room, where the chef had already laid out our breakfast for us. We sat down to lean cuts of steak, with eggs and even some pancakes. “Well, I guess I'm going to have to join you for your workout," I complained good-naturedly. "Is your chef trying to say something about me with the use of steak? I mean, since I did come here with that in mind and all."

Tomasso shook his head and sliced into his filet. "I doubt it. He’s probably trying to pack me full of protein, and for you, well, he most likely read somewhere that your area of Brazil eats a lot of beef. Don't stab him, please?"

I cut my steak and chewed, smiling. It may not have been Brazilian, but the chef knew what he was doing, and it was delicious. "For a chef this talented? I'd be mad to do that. Anyway, what is this Golden Gardens Park?"

"It's a place on the Pacific Ocean side, one of the bigger parks in town. I'd forgotten about it because I usually used a private beach when I was younger, and the water there is cold. You've gotta wear a wetsuit if you want to go in, so it’s mostly kayakers, canoers, stuff like that in the water. But the view's nice on a day like this, and most of the time, the sun is warm. I should have taken you there already.”

"That's all right. Should I take a hat or anything?"

Tomasso nodded and took a forkful of eggs and speared a bite of steak with it. "Sure. But let's work up a sweat first, okay?"

I smiled and gave him a lifted eyebrow. "Careful what you wish for. You may just get it."

* * *

A
fter a good workout
in which we made sure his legs would not atrophy and that his strength loss in his legs would be minimized, I finished off with a few yoga poses for him just for the tease. We changed out of our sweat-soaked workout clothes, and I drove us out to Golden Gardens Park. The seaside area was picturesque, although far from what I'd expected when Tomasso said beach. I still had in my mind something more akin to Brazilian beaches, which for the most part are the sorts of places where someone can go with a towel, an umbrella, and some sunglasses to lay out and relax for a long time.

The beach that we pulled up to was far too rocky, with the sand being more like fish tank gravel, which crunched and squealed under my feet as we made our way along the path that paralleled the water. "You're sure you're okay?"

"The rocks are pretty steady. I'm doing fine," Tomasso replied, jabbing his crutches into the path and hopping forward. "Besides, there's a bench up ahead. I think that'll be a good place for us to sit down, relax some, and talk about things that are best not discussed at the house."

"I thought that might be your reason for coming out here," I replied. "You have suspicions?"

"Enough that I need to make a plan of action," Tomasso said, reaching the bench. He pivoted around and sat down, much more adept with his crutches and brace than he had been just days before.

I sat down next to him, enjoying the warmth of the sun on my shoulders and face. The view over the water was far different than what I could see in Brazil, even with the summer heat allowing some of the people who were brave enough to walk the beach in swimwear. Still, it had its own form of rugged beauty. The Pacific Ocean outside Seattle had a wild, untamed beauty that was in its own way as breathtaking as the refined warmth of Brazil.

"I can see the appeal of this," I said, resting my leg on his uninjured thigh. He'd worked the leg hard, and I expected that when his ankle was strong enough to spend a little time outside his brace and he could exercise his injured leg again, he'd regain strength there quickly. "It's peaceful."

"It is," he agreed, taking my hand in his. “Maybe we can come back here some time and really enjoy it.”

I smiled and squeezed his fingers. "Remember, that's two dates you have to take me on now, the Cascades, and now here. Keep it up, and I won't be able to go back to Brazil. But seriously, I assume you found something out about Jake Marconi?"

Tomasso nodded and sighed. "I talked with a friend last night after you went to bed, and he told me that there may be a connection between Leonard Frakes and Jake. It seems like a stretch—a girl in Korea."

I looked around at the passers-by, all of whom looked like normal people enjoying a far more mundane existence than what I led, and tried to think of what to say. "Are you sure enough to do something about it? He’s your friend."

"Some things are more important than friendship," Tomasso said in a quiet, intense voice. "Like honor. And lo—”

"Don't," I said softly, cutting him off. "Not yet—you can’t possibly mean it anyway. Let's just . . . let's focus on keeping you healthy, and this issue with Jake Marconi, then we can go from there. What do you want to do?"

"I need to confront him," Tomasso said, conviction in his voice after pausing and considering what I'd just said. I could see he wanted to say more, but he understood my point of view and was willing to respect it. "But I need to do it in such a way that minimizes risk. And I can't confront him by myself. I'm not in the best shape for a confrontation, and before you ask, no, you can't be the one to take a shot either. This is Bertoli business."

"It is Mendosa business as well," I reminded him, "he may have been involved with trying to kill me, after all. That is just as important as your own family loyalty issues. I won’t sit back and be a wallflower in this."

Tomasso looked like he was going to argue the point, then he saw the expression on my face and relented. "You have a point. But Luisa, there's another reason I don't want you involved."

"I know," I said, taking his hand and giving his knuckles a kiss. "But that's not going to stop me, regardless of whether we give voice to those reasons or not. I told you before that I know how to handle myself."

Tomasso kissed my knuckles and turned his eyes back toward the sea. "I know you can. All right, well, someone once said respect was the most important thing. I guess I'll bow to the experts."

We sat back and watched the gulls circle and dive into the water out on the ocean. The sun was warm, and I was content. I had Tomasso sitting next to me and a feeling of well-being and peace in my heart. "Do we have to go back yet?"

He shook his head. "No. Nothing needs to be done until tonight,” I said, smiling.

* * *

W
e stayed there
until after noon, when we got up and made our way back toward the parking lot. Finding a little stand that was selling soft-serve ice cream, I was able to let myself feel the fantasy again, even as we sat down with our drippy cones and discussed the details of what we had to do. The whole ordeal was cute, if that word could relate to two people casually discussing the setup and possible shooting of another man.

Our plan called for more than ice cream, though, so a little before three o'clock, Tomasso took out his phone and made his first call. "Pietro? Yeah, it's Tomasso. I have something I need your help with. Well, I'd take it to Dad, but with him out of town, this is something I should have you involved with. It has to do with a possible betrayal to the family. Can you meet me at the diner tonight, say at midnight? Thanks. No, it'll wait until then."

Tomasso hung up the phone and handed it to me. "He'll be there. Are you sure that you want to be involved with this?"

I nodded, my smile fading as I opened the phone, intent on doing my part. "Of course. I appreciate your worry, but this concerns me just as much as you. Besides, I won't be doing this blind or unarmed."

He nodded and sat back while I hit the
dial
button. The phone buzzed in my ear while I waited for Jake to pick up. "Hello, Bertoli's Pizza, accounting. Marconi speaking."