Page 10 of Guarded from Sabotage

Hug or handshake?

Screw it.I dart forward and give Dante a lightning-fast hug. Before he can react, I pull away and say, “Thanks. It’s good to see you too.” Gesturing towards the living room, I ask, “We can sit in here, if that’s okay? Do you want something to drink? Eat?”

Dante looks at me for a moment, his eyes shifting to a deep ocean-blue. An emotion I can’t quite identify moves across his face. Then he smiles and says, “You know what, I’d love something to drink.”

By the time I get Dante a glass of ice-water and a plate of cookies—he didn’t ask, but I’ve been doing a lot of comfort-baking lately—I think I’ve managed to pull myself together. My surging emotions have been shoved in a box to deal with later, and the jittery feeling in my stomach is finally settling.

Isit jitters? Or butterflies?

It doesn’t matter, I remind myself again as I hand the frosty glass to Dante and he rewards me with another one of his endearing smiles. This isn’t a friendly visit. He’s here to talk about my case, andthat’swhat I should be focusing on.

As I set the plate of cookies on the coffee table, he throws me a surprised glance. “Sarah. You didn’t need to?—”

“It’s fine,” I assure him as I take a seat at the other end of the couch. “You wouldn’t believe how many cookies I have stockpiled right now. I’ll never come close to finishing them.”

Dante takes a cookie—salted caramel chocolate chip, one of my favorites—and lets out a low moan of appreciation as he bites into it. He makes quick work of the rest, then says, “That was incredible. I remember you saying how much you like to bake, but this…”

Like it always does, watching someone enjoy my cooking gives me a burst of pleasure. Smiling, I reply, “Thanks. I used to help my mom with the desserts at the restaurant. I knew how to make all the dishes, but baking was always my favorite.”

“They ran a Mexican restaurant, right? In Lake George?”

“Well, it was more Mexican American fusion. Being in a tourist area, they wanted to have dishes for everyone, even the people who didn’t really care for Mexican food. So we had all the traditional stuff, like street tacos and tamales and pozole, but we also had burgers and sandwiches.”

Dante leans forward, his eyes bright with interest. “I have to admit I haven’t had much in the way of real Mexican food. Growing up, my mom cooked almost strictly Italian dishes, except for the times my dad would insist on breaking out the barbecue and grilling.”

It’s right on the tip of my tongue to offer to make dinner for him sometime. To prepare an authentic Mexican meal, complete with my mom’s mole sauce recipe that takes two days to make. And I’d make my special margaritas that Hanna swears are the best she’s ever had, and we’d have fried ice cream for dessert, and?—

No. That’s not why he’s here. Just because we’re having a nice conversation doesn’t change the purpose of his visit.

And why in the world am I having these thoughts about Dante right now?

Swallowing back the invitation, I change the topic. “Have you gotten to see your family much? Now that you’re not traveling like you used to?”

When I talked to Dante at the wedding, he’d only been out of the Army a couple of weeks and was spending some well-deserved time with his family in White Plains. That was back before the official news about the Blade and Arrow Bravo Team was announced, although I knew from Hanna it had already been in the works for months.

“Not a lot,” he answers, “but definitely more than when I was active duty. We’ve been really busy getting B and A off the ground, but I’ve made time to fly out to New York a few times and my parents came here for Thanksgiving. My schedule is more flexible now, so if I need to make a weekend trip, I can. So that’s good.”

“I’m glad.” Our gazes meet, and there’s a tiny frisson ofsomethingthat moves between us. My heart makes an unsteady leap. “And I’m glad things are going so well for you here. Hanna said the Bravo Team is off to a great start.”

“It is.” He sits up, pride evident in his expression. “I’m really happy with our progress. We’re booking out six months already for our security jobs, and we’ve already had some successful cases. So it’s going really well.”

There’s a pause, and Dante’s smile slides into something more serious.

My heart sinks into my belly.

Nice, pleasant conversation time is over. Now it’s down to the real reason he’s here.

In a patiently gentle tone he asks, “Can you tell me what happened? From the beginning? Hanna told us some of it, but if we’re going to help, I really need to hear everything from you.”

“I know.” Taking a deep breath, I let it out slowly. “It all started two weeks ago. I went out for lunch with my friend, Raya.We were just getting sandwiches, and I went to pay, but my card was declined. So was the second one I tried.”

And then my carefully organized life started to fall apart.

CHAPTER FOUR

DANTE

I never thought about the real impact of identity theft before.

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