Matteo cocked his head. “Okay. He has a long road ahead, but he’s a fighter.”

“So are you, from what I’ve heard.”

He reeled back. “Exactly what have you heard, and from whom?”

Lambert chuckled. “Jameson Knight. As you already mentioned, he and I go way back. So when I was tasked to head an initiative to take down terrorist sleeper cells in this country, I put the word out to a few of my peers for recommendations. Knight supplied your name. Even sent me a detailed file. You’re a damn good asset to our country.”

“Thank you, sir.”

“Shame you had to leave the teams, but I understand why.”

“Thank you, sir,” he repeated, the knot tugging at his gut. “Initially, I took leave, hoping to rejoin my team after my dad got better. But it appears that’s going to take a while, so I had to retire.” His whole body tensed. Damn, he hadn’t realized how much it hurt to say out loud. He drew in a breath and let it out slowly.

“What if I told you there was still a way to help out this country?”

Matteo stiffened. “How, sir?”

He sure as hell wasn’t going to sling pizza the rest of his life.

“I’d like to add you to the sleeper cells I’m creating from retired SEALs.”

A sliver of adrenaline materialized and kicked up his pulse. “Sleeper SEALs?”

“Exactly. Are you interested?”

Hell, yeah. The lightness in his chest, and his suddenly dry mouth were signs of affirmation, but the timing sucked. “I am, sir, but I need to sort out what happened to my dad.”

“You’re concerned about the sequence of the head trauma,” Lambert said, with agreement underlying his tone.

Matteo didn’t bother to ask how much detail the commander knew about his father’s stroke, or how. The answer was probably above his pay grade.

When he’d had one.

“Yes,” he replied, and went on to quickly explain his concern. “Could be nothing. But I need to know.”

“Understandable,” Lambert said. “And this happened when? Three weeks ago?”

Something in the man’s tone set the hair on Matteo’s neck on end. “Yes. Why? Could this be related to the reason you called?”

“I don’t know. Like you said, could be nothing.”

“Or it could be something,” he countered, everything inside him screaming that it was. All the more reason for him to take the mission.

Even if it wasn’t related, the job would keep him from going stark-raving mad from slinging pizza all day. Or dealing with the holiday hype already sweeping through the boardwalk shops, commandeering the local radio stations, and abuzz in customers’ conversations. He hated this time of the year. Between the commercialism, and growing up with Santa in his last name…yeah, Matteo definitely fell into the Grinch category.

“Tell me about the mission.” He already knew he’d say yes.

“I know I don’t have to ask if you’ve heard of Rasheed Al-Zahawi.”

“Fuck, no.” Matteo’s heart slammed into the floor at the same time his gaze sought Bella on the security monitor. She stood by the counter, pizza in her hand and smile on her face, captivating a grinning Joe with something she was saying. Her life had changed irreparably because of Rasheed. She’d suffered because of him, and Matteo had vowed to someday find the man and make him pay. “You should’ve started your pitch with that.”

“Guess I should’ve.” Lambert’s tone was as grim as the thoughts rushing through Matteo’s head. “I know your godfather was killed trying to stop Rasheed from carrying out another attack on New York City.”

“He did stop him,” Matteo pointed out, damn proud of Bella’s father for saving thousands of lives that fateful New Year’s Eve, thirteen years ago.

“Yes, he did, at the sacrifice of his own life,” the commander said. “Damn shame no one knew he’d saved Times Square, and countless lives.”

Over a million people had been in attendance that night. Matteo remembered his father telling him that in order to keep the city from panicking, the authorities kept the thwarted plot, and all mention of terrorists―captured, killed, or escaped―out of the media.

His gaze returned to Bella again. “Those who mattered to him, knew.”

“Well, there’s chatter Rasheed’s back in the states, headed for your city, if he isn’t there already.”

Shit. Matteo straightened up. “He’s coming to Atlantic City?”

“Yes. Word is, he has sympathizers there, already in place, prepping for his arrival. Which is any day.”

“How reliable is your intel?”

“Very. We got it from Samir Al-Jamil.”

Damn. Matteo’s chest tightened. Those two assholes were involved in several attacks together.

“Samir said he was planning to, and I quote, ‘Make sure America has a reason not to forget your holidays.’ He said Rasheed was involved and someone else Rasheed kept a secret. Chatter is, it could be one of the FBI’s top three most wanted.”

Heavy hitters. He ran a hand through his hair. “Why isn’t Homeland handling this?”

“Since we don’t know the exact target, other than the city, and we don’t know all the players, we need to be careful. Can’t have a ton of agents crawling around, spooking the cell before we know the venue and everyone involved. The bastards will scatter only to come back in the distant future to finish the attack. No. We need you to locate those sympathizers, and Rasheed, find out the venue and who else is involved.”

“So, this isn’t a capture and kill.”

“No. Not yet. We need Rasheed alive,” Lambert stated. “Sorry. I get that you’d want blood.”

Damn straight. For what that bastard had put Bella and her mother through? Before the woman had died in a car accident a few years later. His father had suffered, too. Losing a buddy in combat was bad enough, but to survive the Gulf War, only to be taken out while protecting the innocent in the states had hit his father hard. So, yeah, damn right Matteo wanted blood.

He’d killed for his country before. It didn’t mean he liked it, but he carried out his orders and moved on, otherwise, it could cripple his psyche and render him useless. But some missions, like this one, he welcomed a CAK order.

Too bad this wasn’t one of them.

“Unfortunately, Rasheed is too valuable to kill right now.” The commander’s voice held an undercurrent of disgust. “Doesn’t mean someone won’t try. You’re going to have to make sure that doesn’t happen.”

Great. “The government hasn’t put the word out to all the agencies that he has information on an impending attack?”

“Sure they have, but that doesn’t guarantee they’ll all listen. That’s why it’s imperative that you get your hands on him first. Lives are at stake, Santarelli. You must locate these men and find out what they’re planning.”

“And then what, sir? Do I contact you? Do I have backup?” Seemed like too high-profile a target to let it all fall on one retired SEAL. Not that he couldn’t handle it.

“Officially, no,” Lambert said. “This is an unsanctioned op, so if you’re caught, you’re on your own. The U.S. Government won’t bail your ass out, or take any responsibility.”

Nothing new.

“Once you locate Rasheed and extract the information, then call me. I’ll pass the information on to the pertinent agencies, as well as let you know if your orders change.”

Matteo stood a little taller at the unspoken confidence in the commander’s tone and words. “Roger that.”

“If you find you do require backup then consider calling Knight. His agency doesn’t answer to subcommittees, so he can offer immediate assistance.”

He nodded as if Lambert had a visual on him. “Will do,” he said. “Circling back to my dad, sir. Earlier, you alluded that perhaps this mission had something to do with my father. How?”

“I don’t believe in coincidences,” the commander answered. “The fact your father suffered a blow to the head—whether naturally or unnaturally—around the same time chatter started about sympathizers preparing for Rasheed, seems a bit too convenient. It makes my damn nose hair twitch. Plus, if you factor in your father’s overall good health, and lack of medication, it all points to foul play. Hell, I’m on cholesterol medication and high blood pressure pills, and according to your dad’s medical records, he doesn’t take a Goddamn one.”

A smile tugged Matteo’s lips. Leave it to his father to frustrate the commander without a face-to-face. And the fact Lambert got his hands on his dad’s medical records proved the commander had high-level clearance.

“Never doubt your gut, Santarelli. It got you through many missions,” Lambert pointed out. “You felt something was off, and I agree with you.”

Roger that. “So it’s possible he may have heard something, or seen something.”

“Or someone,” Lambert added. “Your father’s lucky to be alive. You know how these bastards work. They don’t leave witnesses.”

Invisible, cold fingers squeezed Matteo’s heart, sending chills down his spine. “They were probably interrupted.”

Even though it was a slower time of year, the boardwalk still drew a crowd in spurts.

“Most likely.”

Fuck. Those cold fingers squeezed harder. His dad was a sitting duck. Thank God he’d at least had the foresight to restrict visitors to family. But if these people wanted his father dead, they’d find a way to get in.

“Now that I think about it,” Lambert said. “I’m going to call Jameson and ask him to provide protection for your dad. His agents are former SEALs and military, so don’t worry, your father will be safe at the center, and can continue his rehab. This way you can work this mission without worrying about him. Plus, they could provide backup, should you need it.”

“I appreciate that, sir,” he said, already feeling the tightness ease in his chest.

He’d be able to work cleaner, smarter, quicker if he wasn’t worried about his father.

“A few more things before I go. Make sure you check in with me. You can use this number you called. And as for your compensation,” the commander said, mentioning an amount which equaled a fuck-ton of money.

But he didn’t give a rat’s ass if he got paid. Matteo wasn’t doing it for money. He took the mission for his dad. For Bella. For his godfather, and to bring justice to his killer…after he extracted the information he needed to shut down the cell and ensure no one died on his watch.

Something about the commander’s silence unsettled his gut. “Why do I get the impression there’s something else, sir?”

Lambert’s chuckle filled his ear. “Because you’re a damn good SEAL.”

Was...

His unsettled gut tightened, and he considered correcting the man, but changed his mind. Lambert was right. Matteo would never stop being a SEAL. He’d earned his trident, fought for his country. Took bullets for his brothers. No one could take any of that away from him.

“You also need a heads-up,” Lambert stated. “There’s chatter that a few agencies have sanctioned a hit on Rasheed.”

“Foreign?”

“And domestic,” Lambert replied. “So locate those sympathizers, find Rasheed, and get that bastard to talk before he can’t.”

Matteo nodded. “Yes, sir.”

“I’m going to call Jameson now. Expect to hear from him soon,” Lambert told him, before hanging up.

After clicking off the phone, Matteo sank into the chair behind the desk and blew out a breath. Fucking terrorist sympathizers might’ve attacked his dad.

The same questions from before ran through his mind. Why didn’t they kill him? Were they interrupted? Did his father know his attacker? Did the attacker know his dad survived?

He was hoping against hope that none of that mattered because his father’s stroke was brought on by natural causes. 

Not that he wished bad health on his father, but the alternative was harder to swallow. He would have enough on his plate trying to find Rasheed and keep the prick alive.

Damn. He couldn’t believe he had to protect the bastard. And from American, and probably foreign agents, no doubt. His gaze wandered to Bella’s sweet image on the monitor again.

How the hell would she feel knowing the man who killed her father was coming to Atlantic City, or possibly already here, and he had to keep the guy safe?

His stomach lurched as he imagined her smile fading, and brows crashing together from the disappointment rippling through her body.

Good thing she wasn’t going to know.