“Have a good rest, Ms. Buchanan.”
Jorja replaced the phone. “Well, that was interesting.” If she was the betting kind, she’d put money down on the table that the receptionist did know of the McKinley brothers and The Four X’s Group. She hurried to grab her laptop. When people were asked about friends, even if they denied knowing them, they often sent a message or called the person in question to let them know someone was asking about them.
She quickly set up her computer on the desk and went through her set-up sequences and opened the eavesdropping program she’d picked up on the dark web a couple of years ago and set it up to run.
While she was waiting for the program to scan for text messages, she clicked through the screens and hovered her mouse over the icon for the dark web. This laptop didn’t have all the security features her computers at home had, and she decided it wasn’t worth the risk. If she could get in there, someone could possibly backtrack to this computer. She needed a day or two to recover from the long drive before she managed to find herself in trouble.
The program finished its search and pulled up the IP addresses of active devices nearby. Jorja frowned at the screen. “Damn it. I should have figured out how this worked before I needed it.” She scowled at the rows of data and decided there was nothing else for it but to check each one. She clicked on the first line and opened up the information then scanned it. “It’s in Italian, of course it’s in Italian.” She copied the text message and flipped to Google translate andpasted it into the box. “Nope, I don’t need to know what Mama is making you for dinner.” She resigned herself to going through each and every single line of data. If her suspicions were correct, the receptionist would contact The Four X’s Group and tell them she has asked about them. If she could find that message or email, then she would have either the phone number or an email address.
Jorja decided if she was going to be here for a while then she needed to pee and make coffee at the coffee station next to the closet. Hopefully this would pay off. If she hadn’t found anything by the time she had to leave for dinner, then she’d just have to wait to see what the notaio said tomorrow.
CHAPTER FOUR
His brothers werea pain in the ass. Gunnar asked himself the same question he asked multiple times a day. “Why did I think working with them full time wouldn’t drive me insane?” He walked under what had been the archway leading to the cloister and under the covered walkway to the door to his private quarters at the rear of the complex and pressed his thumb to the locking mechanism. The second he shut the door behind him, he released the tension in his shoulders. He loved his place. From the second he’d seen the ruins five years ago, he’d known he wanted it to be his. Now as he climbed the stairs and into his living room, he decided the frustrations of purchasing and renovating a listed building in Italy had been totally worth it.
In the Middle Ages, this complex had been an important stopping place on the journey to the Holy Land. The “mansio” had changed its name to “Mason del Tempio” (Abode of the Temple) in the XII century. When he and his brothers had been looking for a place to call home and run the European branch of The Four X’s, they had all gotten a kick out of finding evidence which showed the presence of theTemplars in this property dating back to 1189. It was kind of fitting that the building would be used once again as a fortress which protected the ones who needed it most.
He and his brothers had spent hours poring over plans and dealing with lawyers and officials to keep as many of the original features as possible when restoring the building, converting it into offices and apartments. The old cloister was used as a guest wing when they had people they needed to house as part of their work.
The Maltese cross which they’d found on ancient documents and maps of the area, Gunnar had insisted be part of restored stonework during the restoration, in homage and respect for the original building and artifacts. This place was his sanctuary, his home. If Talon was right and something was coming, then he would defend his home with everything he had.
He placed his phone on the coffee table, shoved his hand down the back of the couch, and located the TV remote. He had no idea how it ended up there. Maybe this place had a resident ghost who enjoyed fucking with him, or maybe it just slid down there because the floor was still slightly uneven. But he didn’t care, it was a minor inconvenience to retrieve it. He flipped on the TV and went to pour himself water from the fridge. Downtime didn’t happen very often, but these next few days were, unless some dumpster fire kicked off in some Godforsaken place in the world, for once looking quieter than normal. He scanned the news, confirming there was nothing making headlines which he needed to be aware of, downed his water, and headed for the shower. Working out in the Italian summer heat sucked, but if he didn’t, all the muscles he’d spent years building would be flab in a heartbeat. If he couldn’t keep up with his teams, then he had no business being in this world.
He'd almost made it to his bedroom when his phone rang.Gunnar huffed in annoyance. Of course someone needed him right this second. As much as he’d love a couple of minutes to himself, he didn’t dare not answer when it trilled the ring tone which warned of danger. He glanced at the screen and frowned when he didn’t recognize the number. Italian numbers didn’t ring him often. Most of those were filtered through the main desk. “Go.”
“It’s Marco.”
Unease swept through him. “Marco, is everything okay? Your family…”
“My family are good,” the former COMSUBIN who’d saved his butt in Afghanistan and taken a bullet in the process replied. “My sister has a guest at her hotel who was asking about you.”
“A guest?”
“A woman,” Marco replied.
Why the hell would a woman be asking at Marco’s family hotel for him? There was nothing to connect them together. Neither of their names even appeared on the same military documents. Remi had made sure of it. Just thinking his brother’s name reminded him of the conversation a few minutes ago. “Remi said someone was looking for us.”
“Do you think it’s this woman?”
“If so, I don’t know why.” He grabbed a pen and notepad from the coffee table and sat heavily into the couch. “What’s her name?”
“Georgia Buchanan.”
While Marco spoke excellent English, his voice was heavily accented. Gunnar knew better than to assume names were spelled how he thought they were. “G.E.O.—”
“No, no, Grizzly.” In typical Marco style, he used Gunnar’s call sign rather than his given name. “J.O.R.J.A. B.U.C.H.A.N.A.N.”
Something twigged on the edges of his memory, but hecouldn’t quite put his finger on it. “The name is familiar, but I don’t know why. Did she mention anything else?”
“She said her mother knew yours and wanted her to say hello while she was in Italy.”
“Italy is a big place. You don’t just expect…”
“You Americans do,” Marco interrupted again. “Every time I’ve met an American and they realize I am from Italy, they ask if I knew their family from Sicily or Catania. Bah. The south is not the north and I do not know everyone,” he grunted. “I have a copy of her passport. I’m sending it to Remi now.”
“Thanks, man, I appreciate the heads up.”
“She will be at Ristorante Enoteca Il Toscano for dinner tonight at eight,” Marco told him. “I have a table booked for us too if you need it.”
