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***
The sun was setting as Dusty waited in the conference room for the team to gather. He’d talked to Chris earlier, and the man had said he’d do what he could, see what he could find out about this mystery man.
Nico Amorosi. Dusty hadn’t been able to get the man’s name out of his head since Carter’s phone call. He tapped a pen on the polished wood surface.
About an hour ago, a helicopter had landed, and Chris had met a man in a dark suit as he’d disembarked. They’d gone into his office and talked. Ten minutes ago, Chris had texted him to have Carter and Emily come from Dallas out to Tri Star. They needed to talk.
But other than that request, Dusty was still in the dark.
Before he could think better of it, he dug his wallet out of his pocket and flipped it open, thumbing through until he came to the worn photograph he still carried.
Asia’s senior picture. She’d been so proud when she’d given him one.
He stared at the pretty face smiling back at him, absently rubbing his thumb over the image. There’d always been something about Asia’s smile that did something to him. He wasn’t even sure he could explain it or if he even understood it himself. It was crazy, he knew, but somehow, she’d always felt like his missing half.
He scoffed. Soul mates? He didn’t believe in that shit. Most people married someone within fifty miles of their hometown. More like opportunity meets attraction, meets good enough. Most people settled for someone they enjoyed spending time with, someone they had something in common with, someone like them. But the funny thing was, for him, Asia never felt likesettling. She was the whole package. Beautiful. Sweet. Smart. Funny. Not to mention the puppy-dog crush she’d had on him.
“Who’s that?”
Dusty jumped at the sound of Stan’s voice from behind his chair. “Nobody.”
“Nobody?”
Dusty started to put the photo away, but Big Al grabbed it from his other side, having snuck up on both of them.
Al studied the photo. “This the one who got away?”
“Give it.” Dusty made a grab for it, but Al easily held it out of his reach.
“Spill.”
“Okay, fine. Sort of, yeah. She wanted more than I could give. I was enlisted and going into SEAL training. I didn’t have time for a relationship. Besides, she deserved the house with the white picket fence—probably right next door to her parents. That just wasn’t me.”
“Maybe it wasn’t her either.” Al handed it over.
“Plus, she’s my buddy’s little sister.”
“You should have led with that piece of information. That’s bro-code rule number one.” Al slapped him on the shoulder as Chris walked in.
The men took their seats.
“What’s this meeting about, boss?” Stan asked, slumping in his chair and chewing on a straw.
Chris put up a photo on the big screen.
“Who’s that guy? He our target or something?” Grady asked.
“That, my friends, is Nico Amorosi.”
Dusty straightened in his chair, studying the man. The photo looked like the kind taken when someone was under surveillance. He stood outside a restaurant, wearing a white shirt with the sleeves rolled up, revealing an expensive watch. He was on the phone, staring off into the distance, his eyes covered by expensive sunglasses.
“And?” Grady asked.
“Wealthy business man, although it’s unclear how he made his fortune. He’s got dual citizenship—US and Brazil. The FBI have been looking into him for years.”
“For what?” Dusty asked, the words coming out sharp.
Chris’s eyes connected with his for a moment before continuing, as if preparing for a reaction. “He’s suspected of running a white slavery ring.”
