Mr. and Mrs. Rossi

Before wandering barefoot down the hallway downstairs, she grabbed her bedroom backup Sig Sauer from her underwear drawer and followed the noise into the kitchen at the front of the house. The condo had three bedrooms, two upstairs and one down. Harley took the downstairs bedroom and thanked herself every time she came home from a mission and did not have to climb the stairs.

The sounds came from the kitchen right where she left her purse on the island bar. Not too many robbers set their dishes in the sink. Barefoot, and step-by-step she made her way to the arched doorway and pressed her back against the wall, gun ready. The ends of her dark hair swung droplets of water when she peeked around the corner. At the sink she found the pretty eighteen-year-old brunette setting a few coffee mugs in the cabinet.

“You realize you almost got shot,” Harley said clutching the opening of her robe at her throat. Her mind tried to register the timing of the thump and how Hannah got down here so fast. She slipped her weapon into the front pocket of her robe. The muzzle clinked against the ring. Upon hearing the soft clink, Hannah raised a well-groomed eyebrow. Everyone always commented on how the two could pass for twins but Harley played it off all the time. Hannah was tall and lean with black silky hair that always bounced with every head movement. Her height made her never have to worry about weight gain and despite the altitude, she wore four inch heels whenever she had the chance. Harley cleared her throat with authority. “Young lady, where have you been?”

“Didn’t you bother looking at the text I sent you?”

A text did buzz across the cell phone a half hour after saying ‘I Do’ to Dante. A man with kissing skills deserved her undivided attention. Harley shook her head and wondered where her phone was anyway. Oh yeah, in her purse. She’d stuck her phone in the side pocket of her purse while she slipped her work clothes on in her car. “I was, um, busy.”

Irritated, Hannah sighed, “What if I was lying dead in some ditch?”

The thought of this morning’s crime scene replayed in her mind. Harley reached for the handle of her refrigerator door. Hannah decorated the door with old pictures from when she was a child, stick figure drawings of a white picket fence with the two of them standing outside on the green lawn. The cold air from inside the fridge sent a shiver of cold against Harley’s chest.

“This is your place too, you can come and go around here when you please, but seriously,” Harley reached on the top shelf for two bottles of water then she closed the door with her hip and faced her niece. “Just please, tell me when you get in at night in case I’m out on a call like last night.”

“You were on a call,” Hannah folded her arms across her chest and raised her left eyebrow. “I got in at three. You weren’t home.”

“On a call,” Harley sung with sarcasm.

“At three in the morning?” The girl somehow turned the interrogation on her.

Harley shook her head and matched her niece’s stance, resting her hip on the opposite side of the counter. “This is not about me.”

“And where were you?”

She tossed one of the bottles and a mischievous smile at her niece. The temperature of her body began to spike with the mere thought of Dante Rossi. “Hey, I’m the adult here. You don’t have to question my actions.”

“Well, I do if you’re supposed to be taking care of me,” Hannah grinned, and then stood behind the barstool on the other side of the island. A set of four keys on a red and white tasseled key chain sat next to a pink box of what Harley guessed were pastries, sat in the center of the island. One key was for Harley’s, one for front and back door of her dad’s house, and the last key went to the vacation home in Villa San Juan—just in case they got around to it for the weekend.

With this new break close to Alfaro’s

territory, Harley didn’t anticipate any vacation time in her near future. Finally, a legitimate reason to not set foot in Villa San Juan. She’d dealt with the little angel and devil on her shoulders long enough with excuse after excuse putting off a vacation to her parent’s beach house. The last place she ever wanted to step foot in was Villa San Juan. The northwestern hidden gem of an island was a painful memory.

On the bright side of not having to go, the pastry box on the counter gave a little bit of pleasure even if she knew they would do nothing for helping her squeeze into a bathing suit either. Dante Rossi didn’t seem to mind her curves, her inner voice whispered.

“You’re glowing,” Hannah bluntly stated.

“It is a hundred-degrees out.” Harley nodded her head toward window over the sink where the sun’s blinding light spilled through.

“So you took a hot shower? Nope,” Hannah’s hand rested on the plastic white cap of her bottled water, ready to turn, and tilted her head to the side. “I think you got lucky last night.”

First Lundy. Now Hannah. Harley’s sister Jennifer found Hannah and Harley’s relationship highly inappropriate. Of course Jenny would. Harley was convinced her older sister was born with a stick up her ass.

“I’m going to tell your mother what you just said.”

“Tattletale,” Hannah said grinning and sticking out her tongue at the same time. “What happened last night or better yet, who did it happen with?”

“A lady doesn’t kiss and tell.”

“What lady? You?” Hannah snorted and shook her dark curly head. “Who took me at sixteen to get on birth control.”

As a former wild child, Harley recognized the signs in Hannah: staying out late, turtleneck sweaters in Florida, and skimpier outfits. Harley shrugged her shoulders, not the least bit sorry for taking such precautions. “Because I didn’t believe for one minute you fell asleep at that boy’s house while studying! Your dad may have, but not me.”

At least Hannah had the decency to blush and glance away briefly. “So, who’s the lucky guy you met?”

“An FBI agent, actually,” the words sounded funny coming out of her mouth. FBI agents were pleasant to be around if you went into their HQ to have a talk with them at their desks. She didn’t know many who participated in her kind of fieldwork. She made a mental note to call her supervisor, Makana Leonard, to find out more about him and his job. Makana, burned once or twice by men in the past, would understand Harley’s need to know.

Hannah’s dark eyes widened with intrigue. Her elbows resting on the countertop indicated she wanted to hear more about this mystery man. “And?”