Barefoot with a Stranger (Barefoot Bay Undercover #2)(12)

Gabe easily yanked the door open, reaching for a plastic container. “Fuck it, Nino, we got separate bottles for this.”

“It’s not healthy, that habit of yours.”

Gabe shot him a look. “I know, bacteria. You told me. Bring on the botulism, baby. I just sweat out every little bugger in my body, and I need my milk, old man.”

Nino gave the apron tie a good pull, making sure it protected Brooks Brothers’ finest.

He pushed Gabe out of the way of the open fridge to get eggs from the carton. “Gimme the good news, Gabriel. A new client? Another make-believe honeymoon couple like the last two?”

“Hey, that was sheer genius,” Gabe replied. “The MMA trainer on the run from the mob pretending to be married to the hot lawyer who had a stalker? Dude, that kind of undercover gig was exactly why I started this business. They’re not complaining that the fake honeymoon turned real, by the way.”

Nino made a classic Italian mug and shrugged. “I give you that, grandson. It worked out. So who’s our next undercover client? I’m getting really good at that fake paperwork. Can I make up the names again?”

Gabe stifled a proud grin. The Marshals would be lucky to have such an assistant for wit-sec. Plus, Gabe got paid obscene money, and even though Nino didn’t want a dime, the old man’s bank account would have a tidy sum before long. He might not want to spend it, but someday he could leave it to all those Rossi and Angelino kids who loved his cranky old ass.

“Sorry to say I’m not taking any clients for a few weeks, but we are getting a guest, and she’s your second-favorite grandchild.”

Nino turned, his eyes wide and, to his credit, unsure. He loved the whole brood equally, though everyone was convinced they were his favorite. Didn’t matter; Gabe was his favorite.

“Chessie’s on her way,” Gabe said, saving him from making the wrong guess.

“She is?” He beamed. “I liked it when she was here before, but she left so quickly. More computer work for you?”

Not exactly. “She’s helping me find someone,” Gabe explained, mentally pumping up for the big news.

Nino chuckled as he chopped peppers and onions like a cooking ninja. “That’s what Chessie does. She finds people with those busy fingers on the keyboard. Who are you looking for?”

“A boy.”

Nino didn’t answer, but a frown formed as he moved on to the eggs. When Gabe didn’t offer more, the other man looked up with a question on his weathered expression. “For a client?”

“For me.” Gabe took a slow breath and poured a giant bacteria-free glass of milk into a real glass, since that might make Nino predisposed to be happy about this. “He’s my boy.”

Nino’s whole body stilled, the whisk dripping with raw eggs. “Scusi?”

“Maybe my boy. We don’t know yet.”

The old man’s jaw loosened, and a sound came out, not quite a word, not really a grunt, completely a demand for more information.


“Look,” Gabe said, putting the glass on the counter with too much force. “I had a…” What could he call it? A thing? A romance? An affair with the love of his life? “A friend on that last assignment at Gitmo.”

Nino still stared.

“And I’ve been trying to find her for years.” Five years. Five long years. “I had a good lead, but the files were encrypted, and that’s why I flew Chessie down here a couple of weeks ago. Turns out she—my friend—had a kid.”

“Your kid?” Nino asked.

He tried to imagine Isadora with another man and couldn’t. Not then. Not ever. “Possibly. Probably. I don’t know.”

“A woman had your baby and didn’t tell you?” Nino’s voice lifted sky-high.

“Maybe had my baby. We haven’t confirmed it.”

“Cavolo!” Nino choked, the Italian curse cracking his voice. “Why wouldn’t she tell you?”

Most likely because it would put the kid in danger. Or maybe it would put Gabe in danger. Or her. There were plenty of reasons she’d make the choice, but he’d never know unless Junior came with his mother’s diary.

“I don’t know,” he admitted. “And I may never know because she…” Fuck the world, he hated to say the word. It made it so real. “She died.”

“Oh, Gabriel.” Nino took a step closer, but Gabe held up his hand.

“It’s fine.” Of course, it wasn’t fine, and Nino could see that. “It’s nothing.” Now there was a whopper of an understatement.

Nino searched his face, his old features processing the news. “You have a son?” For a normally loud Italian, Nino barely whispered the question.

“I might. She had a kid, and all we know about him is his first name, but birth records are questionable because it’s Cuba, and up to about five minutes ago, everything was questionable about that dung heap, but he’s four, so about the right age.”

“A four-year-old boy.” Nino’s eyes filled. “What’s his name?”

Gabe looked down at the milk and took a shallow breath. “Gabriel. Which means nothing, of course—”

“Nothing?” Nino shot into Gabe’s face, the whisk still in hand. “Nothing? Family is everything!”