CHAPTER FORTY
Two weeks later
Matt
“Where are we going?”
“You’ll see.”
“Why all the secrecy?”
Matt glanced indulgently at his wife, grinning at the impatience written all over her face. They’d just come from the ranch where Doctor Ryan finally did an ultrasound on Grace’s belly. Although, he’d been so sure they’d be having twins, it turned out there was only one heartbeat. A very strong one at that. Two weeks ago, when the doctor informed them about the blood test results, she’d indicated a very typical pregnancy. This was good news as far as Matt was concerned. Grace never experienced morning sickness, and one wouldn’t suspect she was pregnant at all other than her voracious appetite that almost rivaled his own.
This past fourteen days had been difficult. This visit with Doctor Ryan helped lift the veil of grief that had hovered over them with the death of Roger. Troy was also on the mend, having been released from the hospital a week ago.
Things had moved fast on the prosecution of Hector Vargas. Matt accompanied Grace to New York to meet with the U.S. Attorney handling the former cartel kingpin’s case. She handed over the flash drive, leaving Troy’s name off the list. This happened six days ago. This morning, they’d received news that the evidence from the memory stick could be used, and they’d organized a special task-force from DEA, FBI, and ATF to go down the list. Some they would use as witnesses; others they would arrest.
As for his wife, Matt felt she’d done enough and he was relieved she had taken an indefinite leave of absence from the DEA.
“Well?”
Her voice pulled him out of his ruminations.
“We’re almost there, babe.”
He heard her long-suffering sigh and chuckled. Probably not a good idea to keep an eight-week pregnant lady in suspense what with her raging hormones. Thankfully, they’d reached their destination. Matt turned onto a wide, aggregate driveway until it stopped at a sprawling Frank Lloyd Wright inspired prairie-style home.
“Matt, who lives here?” Grace asked quizzically. “Beautiful house.”
“Do you like it?” he asked meaningfully.
His wife’s mouth formed an “O” before settling into a dazzling smile. Her green eyes lit up and her face reminded him right then why he always wanted to make her happy. She hopped out of the vehicle before he could circle around to get her out.
“I’m almost afraid to ask,” she laughed. “Is it yours?”
“Just say the word, babe, and it’ll be ours,” he said.
“Matt …” Grace whispered, her eyes turning suspiciously weepy.
“Looks like you don’t like it,” he teased. “You’re crying.”
That earned him a playful punch on his uninjured side as his wife quickly wiped away the moisture from her eyes.
“Wanna check it out?” He grabbed Grace’s hand and pulled her beside him. “I figured living on top of the garage with all those fumes isn’t a place for a pregnant woman, not to mention raising kids could be precarious in that environment.”
“Kids?” She cast him a dubious sideways glance. “How many are you planning?”
“As many as you’ll give me,” Matt responded without missing a beat.
Grace paused, surveying the architectural details of the house before them. There was a rhythm to the horizontal and vertical planes throughout the stone-and-siding façade. An impressive, sloping overhang roof typical of the style crowned an already impressive structure.
“Let’s go in,” he said.
“Uh, isn’t there supposed to be a realtor?”
“The owner is a friend of mine.”
“Ah,” Grace remarked with a raised brow. “This house looks new.”
“Well it hasn’t been lived in,” Matt said as he unlocked the heavy mahogany door. “I think he had it built two years ago but decided it was too expensive to keep as a weekend getaway home.”
“A weekend home?” Grace asked as they stepped into the foyer. “There must be what? Five bedrooms in this place?”
“Six,” Matt corrected. Grace pulled away from him and he let her go. It was a pleasure to stand back and watch the entranced look on her face as she took in the open interior space, the vaulted ceilings, and the wall of windows that made up the back of the house that led out to the patio.
“Matt, this is beautiful,” she breathed in awe.
“You’re beautiful,” he whispered, but Grace didn’t hear him as she moved further into the house. He fell back two steps, admiring the sway of her hips. His wife had a great ass after all, and right then, he was already imagining bending her over the kitchen’s center island and fucking her from behind.
“Maaaatt …” Grace’s censuring, teasing tone broke through his lascivious thoughts. Her gleaming eyes told him she knew exactly where the trajectory of his thoughts had been. “Are you even looking at the house?”
“I’ve already seen it,” he smirked. “The current view is more enjoyable.”
Grace rolled her eyes and pivoted around to continue her exploration. After almost forty-five minutes of assessing every nook, cranny, and outside space, she turned to him, barely containing her excitement before an anxious look crossed her face.
“Can we afford this?” she asked, worrying her bottom lip. “I do have a respectable savings account, but I’m not sure—”
“Grace,” he stopped her before she stressed further about money. “What did I tell you from the start? Anything to do with shelter, clothing, and food, I’m paying for it.”
“I never agreed to that,” she replied pertly.
He pulled her into his arms and held her tight. “You, Mrs. Foster, have got to let me take care of you. All you have to say is yes to this house.”
“I can see this as our home,” she smiled up at him. “I see our little ones running around. How about you, baby? Can you see this as our home?”
Matt looked around. The house was magnificent, but it was only because he could picture Grace in it. He stared at his wife, losing himself in her gorgeous green eyes.
“Doesn’t matter where we are,” he said softly, lightly pressing a kiss to her lips. “You’re my home, babe.”
*****
Two months later
Matt waited on his Harley at the side of a deserted road. Admiral Benjamin Porter’s request for a meeting wasn’t the best of timing since there was a housewarming party currently going on at his and Grace’s new home, but the admiral waited for no one. Matt watched a black Suburban pull up right across from him. Matt turned off his bike and engaged the kickstand, then crossed the road to get into the SUV’s passenger side.
Admiral Porter was responsible for many successful coups in the CIA. He was a master manipulator, yet everything he did was for the greater good. He was a legend within the agency, and a myth outside of it. He was a man of medium build, almost sixty, with salt and pepper hair. It was easy to underestimate him, but he was as deadly as any Navy SEAL.
“It’s done,” the admiral said when Matt shut the door of the Suburban.
“Moreno and his sons won’t come after Grace?”
“Well, they couldn’t because they’re all dead.”
“What?” Matt muttered in stunned surprise.
“Do you honestly think, Foster, that we’re going to let them get away with teaming up with ISIS to attack a U.S. airport?”
“So the Carillo Cartel …”
“Is finished,” Porter confirmed. “That should stem the flow of heroin into the country as well as take a chunk out of the global heroin market.”
“ISIS finances will take a hit.”
“Exactly.”
“The Carillo Cartel is like a Hydra,” Matt said. “Take out one head and another will spring up in its place. How did you do it?”
“We had good intel once we focused our resources on it. We’ve identified every single one of their inner circle and then some. We crippled their communications and their known infrastructure. We also froze their finances since we have a list of their current money launderers, thanks to your wife.”
“That must have been quite an op. So, who did it? DEA? FBI?”
“We had DEVGRU and SEAL Team 3,” the admiral smiled enigmatically. “The Guardians took the lead.”
“The cartel didn’t stand a chance,” Matt remarked. No one did against Viktor Baran. The man and his crew were a legend in their own right.
“The Carillo Cartel had never been high on the CIA’s list. Moreno and his sons were idiots to align themselves with ISIS. That catapulted them straight to the agency’s high priority,” the admiral said. “So, how’s the new house?”
Matt had a whiplash at the sudden change of subject. “We’re having a housewarming party right now.”
The admiral didn’t say anything.
Shit. Did the admiral want an invite?
“Do you want to stop by for a drink?” Matt forced himself to ask.
The admiral chuckled. “No, I’ve got to get going. Haven’t seen my woman in weeks.”
It was weird thinking of the admiral with a woman. What woman would put up with Porter anyway? Of course, Matt was sure many people had the same thoughts about him.
“I expect an invitation to the wedding though.”
“Uh …”
“The one you’re having two weeks from now.”
This time Matt didn’t say anything because he was simply dumbstruck about why Porter even concerned himself with these things. Didn’t he have a world to save?
“I’m getting out of the game soon, Foster,” the admiral said as if reading his mind. “Pru is never going to marry me as long as I have to keep secrets from her and disappear for weeks on end.”
Matt was trying to figure out if he’d entered an alternate universe. “And you’re telling me this because?”
The admiral grinned then shrugged. “Get out of here, Foster. Go back to your wife before she calls off the wedding.”
Matt chuckled. “Doesn’t matter. She’s already married to me.” He opened the door and stepped out of the vehicle.
When Matt got back on his bike, the admiral lowered his window.
“By the way, Foster, you’re probably gonna hear it tonight or tomorrow—Hector Vargas got shanked in prison earlier this afternoon. He’s dead,” Porter informed him casually.
“Come again?” Matt frowned, not sure if he heard the other man correctly.
“Don’t forget my wedding invitation,” the admiral said instead before rolling up his window and pulling away from the shoulder.
Matt sat on his bike for long minutes as he absorbed all the news he’d just heard. It was hard to believe what the admiral was telling him, but the implication was clear.
His wife would never have to look over her shoulder again.
Grace was truly free.