Guarded from Sabotage (Blade and Arrow Security Bravo Team #2)

Chapter 3

CHAPTER THREE

SARAH

“Are you sure they don’t mind looking into this?”

I know I’ve asked some variation of the question probably a half-dozen times since Hanna first told me she wanted to get Blade and Arrow involved, and she’s told me it’s fine every time, but I can’t help worrying.

“Sarah.” Hanna sighs, and I can practically see her shaking her head at me. “How many times have I told you? The guys don’t mind. At all. I promise.”

“But maybe they felt obligated to say yes. With Finn asking, and they all have such a long history together…”

“Yes, they do,” Hanna replies patiently. “But the Bravo Team wouldn’t have agreed if they didn’t think this was worth looking into. Which it is. What’s happening to you isn’t some little thing. And you’ve dealt with it long enough on your own. I just wish?—”

“I didn’t tell you right away because I thought I could get it all cleared up. I didn’t realize it would get”—my voice catches as the reality of the situation slams into me again—“worse. That I’d lose almost all my money. That no one would believe me.”

“Sarah…” Her tone softens. “This is why you need help. You shouldn’t have to deal with this on your own.”

“But Blade and Arrow?” Nervous energy makes me jump up from the couch again. “I’m just not sure… I mean, they help people who are in actual danger. Like you were. Like Elle when she was nearly abducted. Like Georgia with her stalkers. My situation is different.”

I make another loop of the living room, stopping to rearrange the pillows on my couch for the umpteenth time and debating whether I should try doing that little choppy-thing I see all the people do on HGTV.

“I know, you say it’s fine,” I continue, swallowing hard against the lump in my throat. “But I just don’t want Dante showing up, feeling resentful that he has to be here just because his old friend asked him to. Or for the entire team to think I’m wasting their time.”

“Sarah. You are not wasting anyone’s time. Blade and Arrow helps people with problems they can’t solve on their own that the police won’t or can’t help with. Being in physical danger doesn’t need to be a part of it. Finn’s team has helped with custody cases, blackmail, deepfake videos… what you’re going through definitely qualifies.”

As I start another rotation around the room—who needs a treadmill when nervous energy does the trick—I reply, “I guess you’re right. I just…”

Great. Now my nose is prickling, and I can feel tears burning behind my eyes.

After I’m silent for a few seconds, Hanna asks, “You just what?”

“I just… think I’ve started getting used to no one believing me,” I admit quietly. The lump in my throat gets bigger. “I’m scared I’ll get my hopes up and then Dante will come and he won’t believe me, either.”

“Oh, Sarah.” There’s a long pause. Then my best friend of more than a decade says gently, “That’s not going to happen. They believe you already. I understand why you’re worried, but you don’t need to be.”

Those stupid tears threaten, and I blink hard to keep them from escaping. The last thing I want is for Dante to show up when my eyes are all swollen and bloodshot.

“Sar?” Now Hanna sounds worried. “Are you crying?”

“No,” I sniff. “Not yet, at least.”

“You know you’re welcome here,” she offers. “If you want to come to New York, get away from everything… Leo is out of town with Georgia for their babymoon for another week, but when he comes back, he can work his computer magic for you. Try to figure this out.”

While part of me wants to escape, to hide out in the Blade and Arrow headquarters in Sleepy Hollow, far from where all my troubles started, I know it’s not the right solution.

“I know. But my job is here. Not only do I need to work, but I don’t want to walk away from the kids. I’m helping them, and if I just leave…”

“I get it. But you know the invitation is always open. Okay?”

My lips curve into a tiny smile. “I know.” My chest squeezes. “Thanks. For listening, and trying to help, and just… everything.”

“Of course. You’re my best friend.” She sniffles. “Great. Now you’re making me cry!”

“Sorry!” A small laugh bursts out, and some of the pressure on my chest eases. “But you started it.”

Thank goodness for best friends. Even halfway across the country, Hanna can still make me laugh.

Hanna giggles, and in the background I hear Finn asking in confusion, “Are you okay? You’re crying and laughing? What’s wrong?”

“I’m fine,” Hanna says to him. “Just best friend stuff.” Then to me, she asks, “When is Dante supposed to get there?”

As I glance at the time, I make a small sound of alarm. “In five minutes! Crap! How did I lose track of time? I’ve been up?—”

Nevermind. Hanna doesn’t need to know I’ve been up since four A.M., stressing over my meeting with Dante and researching identity theft for hours.

“It’s fine,” Hanna soothes. “Everything will be okay. And you’re meeting with Dante, who you already know from the wedding. He’s really nice. He’ll listen to you, help come up with a plan, and everything is going to be okay.”

While I’m not quite as confident as Hanna, the least I can do is pretend. So I reply brightly, “You’re right. It’s going to be fine.”

But once I’m off the phone and surrounded by silence again, the doubts come creeping back in. What if Dante doesn’t believe me? What if he says there’s nothing they can do? Or what if he does agree to help me, but then I end up taking their attention away from someone who really needs it? Someone who’s in dire trouble and needs protection?

Ugh. I’m not usually this negative about things. Usually, I try to focus on the positive. It’s like I tell my clients—when you’re feeling stressed or down, think about the things you’re grateful for. Think about the things you’re good at. Tell yourself you can do anything you set your mind to.

If the kids I work with can do it, so can I. Even if my life feels like it’s imploding right before my eyes.

As I do one final check of the living room—still looks immaculate, down to the vacuum lines in the carpet and the HGTV-worthy pillow arrangement on the couch—I run through the things I can be grateful for.

My best friend. A job I enjoy. Loving parents. My health. A team of highly-trained former Green Berets who agreed to meet with me and may be able to help figure out this convoluted mess I found myself in.

And it actually works. My stomach feels less jittery. The band wrapped around my chest eases a little. Hope kindles in my chest.

Maybe this will all work out, just like Hanna said.

Then the doorbell rings, and my heart leaps into my throat.

Don’t be nervous , I remind myself sternly. This isn’t a stranger coming to judge me; not like the police or the dozens of customer service people I’ve talked to over the last two weeks. This is Dante. Finn’s old teammate. Part of Hanna’s extended family.

And he was really nice when I talked to him at the wedding.

It’ll be fine.

I hope.

As I head towards the door, I check the doorbell camera—my neighborhood isn’t the nicest, and that’s a generous way of putting it—to find Dante standing at my front door, just as handsome as I remember.

Yes, I was still technically engaged when I met Dante at the wedding, but I wasn’t blind. And it’s not like anything happened between us other than pleasant—okay, very pleasant—conversation, but I couldn’t help noticing how good-looking he was.

Especially all dressed up in a suit, the crisp white of his button-down contrasting with his bronzed skin, and his tailored suit jacket stretched across broad shoulders and bulging arm muscles. And he had this dark, wavy hair he’d run his hand through when he was thinking, bright blue eyes that sparkled whenever he laughed, and strong, rugged features that hinted at his Italian heritage.

Even though things with Tanner weren’t going well at that point—he claimed he couldn’t come to the wedding because of work, but I found out later he was spending the weekend with another woman—I wouldn’t have dreamed of pursuing anything with Dante.

Some people are loyal. Not like my cheating ex.

But I really enjoyed the hours I spent talking to Dante, and I definitely remember how attractive he was. Or is , at least judging from the little video on my phone.

Not that it matters what he looks like. And it definitely doesn’t matter that I felt a weird sort of flutter in my belly whenever Dante gave me that smile ; the one that lit up his entire face and made him look years younger.

Nope. Doesn’t matter at all.

Dante is here to assess my case, as Hanna called it, and sparkling eyes and charismatic smiles have nothing to do with it.

Except.

As I open the door, Dante’s lips curve up, and his expression brightens. “Sarah. It’s nice to see you again.”

And that smile makes everything feel ten times better. More hopeful. Like maybe Hanna’s right, and Dante can help figure everything out.

“Hi.” Did my voice just squeak a little? What is wrong with me? More steadily, I add, “Thanks so much for coming. I can’t tell you how much I appreciate it.”

“Of course.” His gaze softens. “I’m so sorry to hear about what happened. What you’ve been going through.”

Emotion surges again, and I swallow hard before saying quickly, “Thank you. It’s been… well…”

“Do you want to sit down?” Dante asks. “I was thinking we could just chat for a few minutes, catch up a little, then you can tell me the rest.”

“Okay.” But I don’t move. I just stand in the doorway, staring up at him and distractedly wondering if he was this tall when I saw him last spring.

And should I shake his hand? Hug him? It feels weird not doing anything, but if he’s here on business, and I hug him, is that weird? But shaking hands seems so formal.

What is wrong with me? This isn’t a difficult decision.

“Sarah?” His expression turns to one of concern. “Are you okay?”

“Oh, yes. Sorry.” My cheeks go hot. “Come in. I should have… Sorry. I don’t know what’s wrong with me today.”

“It’s fine, Sarah.” Understanding fills his gaze. “I’m in no rush.”

Hug or handshake?

Screw it. I dart forward and give Dante a lightning-fast hug. Before he can react, I pull away and say, “Thanks. It’s good to see you too.” Gesturing towards the living room, I ask, “We can sit in here, if that’s okay? Do you want something to drink? Eat?”

Dante looks at me for a moment, his eyes shifting to a deep ocean-blue. An emotion I can’t quite identify moves across his face. Then he smiles and says, “You know what, I’d love something to drink.”

By the time I get Dante a glass of ice-water and a plate of cookies—he didn’t ask, but I’ve been doing a lot of comfort-baking lately—I think I’ve managed to pull myself together. My surging emotions have been shoved in a box to deal with later, and the jittery feeling in my stomach is finally settling.

Is it jitters? Or butterflies?

It doesn’t matter , I remind myself again as I hand the frosty glass to Dante and he rewards me with another one of his endearing smiles. This isn’t a friendly visit. He’s here to talk about my case, and that’s what I should be focusing on.

As I set the plate of cookies on the coffee table, he throws me a surprised glance. “Sarah. You didn’t need to?—”

“It’s fine,” I assure him as I take a seat at the other end of the couch. “You wouldn’t believe how many cookies I have stockpiled right now. I’ll never come close to finishing them.”

Dante takes a cookie—salted caramel chocolate chip, one of my favorites—and lets out a low moan of appreciation as he bites into it. He makes quick work of the rest, then says, “That was incredible. I remember you saying how much you like to bake, but this…”

Like it always does, watching someone enjoy my cooking gives me a burst of pleasure. Smiling, I reply, “Thanks. I used to help my mom with the desserts at the restaurant. I knew how to make all the dishes, but baking was always my favorite.”

“They ran a Mexican restaurant, right? In Lake George?”

“Well, it was more Mexican American fusion. Being in a tourist area, they wanted to have dishes for everyone, even the people who didn’t really care for Mexican food. So we had all the traditional stuff, like street tacos and tamales and pozole, but we also had burgers and sandwiches.”

Dante leans forward, his eyes bright with interest. “I have to admit I haven’t had much in the way of real Mexican food. Growing up, my mom cooked almost strictly Italian dishes, except for the times my dad would insist on breaking out the barbecue and grilling.”

It’s right on the tip of my tongue to offer to make dinner for him sometime. To prepare an authentic Mexican meal, complete with my mom’s mole sauce recipe that takes two days to make. And I’d make my special margaritas that Hanna swears are the best she’s ever had, and we’d have fried ice cream for dessert, and?—

No. That’s not why he’s here. Just because we’re having a nice conversation doesn’t change the purpose of his visit.

And why in the world am I having these thoughts about Dante right now?

Swallowing back the invitation, I change the topic. “Have you gotten to see your family much? Now that you’re not traveling like you used to?”

When I talked to Dante at the wedding, he’d only been out of the Army a couple of weeks and was spending some well-deserved time with his family in White Plains. That was back before the official news about the Blade and Arrow Bravo Team was announced, although I knew from Hanna it had already been in the works for months.

“Not a lot,” he answers, “but definitely more than when I was active duty. We’ve been really busy getting B and A off the ground, but I’ve made time to fly out to New York a few times and my parents came here for Thanksgiving. My schedule is more flexible now, so if I need to make a weekend trip, I can. So that’s good.”

“I’m glad.” Our gazes meet, and there’s a tiny frisson of something that moves between us. My heart makes an unsteady leap. “And I’m glad things are going so well for you here. Hanna said the Bravo Team is off to a great start.”

“It is.” He sits up, pride evident in his expression. “I’m really happy with our progress. We’re booking out six months already for our security jobs, and we’ve already had some successful cases. So it’s going really well.”

There’s a pause, and Dante’s smile slides into something more serious.

My heart sinks into my belly.

Nice, pleasant conversation time is over. Now it’s down to the real reason he’s here.

In a patiently gentle tone he asks, “Can you tell me what happened? From the beginning? Hanna told us some of it, but if we’re going to help, I really need to hear everything from you.”

“I know.” Taking a deep breath, I let it out slowly. “It all started two weeks ago. I went out for lunch with my friend, Raya. We were just getting sandwiches, and I went to pay, but my card was declined. So was the second one I tried.”

And then my carefully organized life started to fall apart.