Page 29 of Code Name: Grit

His jaw tightened. “Only a little.”

I bit my lower lip, hating what I was about to ask. “Do you want me off this op? I guess I could work from the command center.”

“That’s not happening.”

I sighed. “Then, what do you suggest?”

“That’s the problem. I don’t have any ideas.”

I looked away. “Grit, I?—”

He stepped close enough for me to feel the warmth of his breath on my neck. “I can’t stop thinking about you. And when you’re close, all I want is to touch you.”

I met his eyes, finding the same conflict there that I felt. “So what do we do?”

His hand brushed mine, a touch so light it might have been accidental. “I wish I knew. A reassignment is out of the question as far as I’m concerned, but I also don’t think we’re ready or even in a position to take our mutual attraction to the next level.”

I could remind myself countless times that Grit wasn’t rejecting me. He was reminding me that the mission had to come first. Except that wasn’t how it felt inside. I longed for him to hold me in his arms, kiss me, and make love to me.

“We should get back to work,” he said, easing around me. Rather than sit at the table with him, I retreated into the bedroom with my tablet. When Tank sent a message to both of us, saying everything was set for tonight, I breathed a sigh of relief. At least we’d have a change of scenery, one without a big bed I was beginning to look at as the elephant in the hotel suite.

By twenty-one hundred hours,we were positioned in the vacant apartment across from the restaurant. The space was sparsely furnished—a couple of chairs, a table, and the surveillance equipment Tank had arranged to be set up before we arrived. A digital SLR camera with a telephoto lens sat ready beside a spotting scope mounted to the windowsill to eliminate hand tremors.

Grit positioned himself near it and picked up a long-range camera, adjusting the settings for low-light capture. While he did that, I checked the communications equipment.

The restaurant was soon buzzing with activity like most of its kind in the city. Which made me wonder how many more were affiliated with either the Belcastros or other families. With close to a thousand serving Italian food alone, God knew. Not that laundering would be exclusive to ethnicity.

“Side entrance,” Grit murmured.

I shifted to his position, pressing close to see what he’d spotted. Two men in dark suits entered through the kitchen door. They looked like typical enforcers, based on their builds.

“That’s Marco,” I whispered a few minutes later when a man emerged from the vehicle, followed almost immediatelyby another SUV. “And that’s Christopher Rivera, one of the borough’s ten council members; he serves on the city’s zoning committee.”

“Political connection confirmed,” Grit said, capturing images with the camera. “No doubt, he’s approved permits for Belcastro ventures throughout his districts.”

“Wait, who’s that?” I pointed when another vehicle pulled up. It wasn’t an SUV, but the windows were darkened. A lone man got out of the rear passenger door, then entered the same way the others had.

Grit took multiple photos in rapid succession, then lowered the camera once the man was inside. Something about the way his head hung felt off.

“What’s wrong?” I asked.

“I know him.”

“Who is he?”

He shook his head. “It’s not important.”

I leaned toward the window, my arm brushing Grit’s. The contact sparked between us, but I refocused on the scene below.

“That’s Salvatore Galliano,” I said when the man stepped out into the alley. “He’s been laundering money for mob families for at least fifteen years.”

Grit’s eyes met mine. “Do I even want to know how you know that?”

I hesitated before answering. “Let’s just say I heard things my oldest brother probably wished I hadn’t.” I shifted toward the equipment case, checking if Tank had included any of the audio-surveillance tools. “Did we get anything that might pick up their conversation from here?”

“Not at this distance,” Grit replied, adjusting the focus on the spotting scope. “And with the kitchen between us and their likely meeting spot, even the laser mic would be useless.”

“We need to get inside, close enough to hear what they’re discussing.” I understood that planting a bug was out of the question. Regardless of how recent the technology, a family with the resources the Belcastros had would’ve had the place swept often.

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