Page 54 of Married to the SEAL
“Twenty-seven eighteen Wilshire Boulevard, apartment three.”
“Then we start with Trudy.”
The men piled into Vasile’s private car, giving the address to the driver.
“Drive like your life depends on it,” said Matteo.
They made the trip across town in record time, but it was still too late for poor Trudy. Cowboy broke down the door of the apartment and found her dead and wide-eyed, staring in the ceiling from a pool of her own blood.
Matteo cursed under his breath. “Quickly. Search the apartment.”
The men spread out and started to move. “What are we looking for?” asked Cowboy.
“I don’t know. Locations. Events. Anything that might have to do with the baby or their plan to sully Vasile’s name.”
“Baseball tickets,” said Cowboy.
“What?” asked Matteo, coming up short.
Cowboy fanned out a dozen ticket stubs. “I’ve got ten bucks says these are the tickets they used to get into the stadium and plant the bomb.”
Suddenly, Matteo knew what they were looking for. “The subway. Look for anything that happens to do with the subway. I think they’re planning their last and final terrorist attack on the subway.”
Matteo went through drawers, throwing things out of his way as he searched. Inch by inch they frantically searched the tiny apartment for anything that could lead them to Nico.
“South Street Station,” called Austin from the bedroom. “Over here! I found a map of South Street Station.”
“South Street Station?” asked Logan. “Oh, no. Holy fuck. What’s today’s date?”
Matteo looked at his watch. “The sixteenth.”
Logan put his hands on his head. “The vigil is tonight. The vigil for the people who died in the pedestrian bridge bombing.”
“What’s the connection?” asked Cowboy.
“I watched hours and hours of the satellite feed from the bridge area. It starts at South Street Station.”
“Shit!” yelled Matteo. “They’re going to do it again, in the same place with the people at the vigil.”
“And the subway. It’s all right there, Red,” said Logan.
“What time does the vigil start?”
“Nine o’clock.”
Matteo looked back at his watch. “It’s eight twenty-five. Move! Let’s go now.”
35
Grace walkedinto her father's bedroom. She hadn't been in here since the night her mother died, something which would have made her emotional to begin with. The fact that her father was now lying on the bed right where her mother had passed away, and that he looked nearly dead himself, was her undoing. Tears spilled from her eyes onto her cheeks and she wiped them away with the backs of her hands.
When did he get so old? In her mind, he was as formidable now as he had been her whole life, but reality struck her in stark contrast. The old man on the bed was not formidable in any way.
He was frail.
He was sick.
He was dying.
