“But a boomerang’s different,” Tommy continued, his face a study in fierce concentration as he fingered the intricate designs inlaid in the wood. “It’s got this curved shape ’n’ wide surface ’n’ the top is conver...convey...”
“Convex?”
“Yeah, convex. Anyway, Dad says if you throw it right, it’ll defy gravity as long as it has enough speed ’n’ the rotation will bring it right back to you.”
“Sounds like you’ve got the theory down. Want to put in practice?”
“Yes!”
Thankfully, Joe’s Aussie contact had directed him to an indigenous arts and crafts store with a very accommodating owner. The man had hooked a Closed sign in his shop window and taken his customer to the soccer field just a half block from his store. It took patient coaching and several attempts before Joe eventually got the damned boomerang to return.
The Ellises’ backyard wasn’t anywhere near as large as a soccer field, but Joe figured it was adequate for Tommy’s strength and throwing ability. Hunkering down on his heels, he shared his recently acquired knowledge.
“Okay, hold it in a two-fingered pistol grip.”
“Huh?”
“Sorry. Hold it here with your thumb and two fingers. Tuck the other fingers into your fist. Good. Now lift the boomerang vertical to your shoulder. A little higher. Okay. It doesn’t take a lot of effort to throw this. Just bring your arm back and hurl it forward.”
Tommy’s first attempt sent the boomerang plowing straight down into the snow-dusted grass. The second whizzed past the pup’s nose. The third actually flew off to the right, whirled and started to return before it ran out of speed.
“Joe! It was coming back!”
“I saw.”
Thrilled with his throw, Tommy almost tripped over his pet in his eagerness to retrieve the boomerang. Joe figured he’d pretty well exhausted his expertise and leaned against the garden wall to let the boy enjoy himself.
He was a good kid. Make that a great kid.
Looking back, Joe could admit he’d harbored more than a few doubts when he’d heard Brian Ellis had brought his young son to Italy. At the time, Ellis, USAF Major Travis Westbrook and the playboy prince Joe and his team were providing special security for were in the final test phase of a highly classified NATO special ops aircraft modification. The mod had been designed by Ellis Aeronautical Systems, however, and the company’s CEO was a widower who included his son and the boy’s nanny on extended trips abroad whenever he could. Unfortunately, the nanny tripped and broke her ankle in the final and most critical phase of the test.
Joe didn’t believe in luck. Not many men and women in his profession did. You considered every possible contingency, devised backup plans, worked out alternate escape routes and relied on training and instinct to get you out of tight situations. He was living proof that the formula worked...most of the time. When he looked in the mirror, however, he saw a graphic reminder of Curaçao and the one time his instincts were dead wrong.
Yet even he had to admit that chance or luck or whatever the hell you wanted to call it had played out in Italy. Kate and Travis Westbrook had hooked up again. Fiery-haired Dawn McGill had stepped in as Tommy’s temporary nanny. And Joe had met Callie Langston.
It hadn’t been love at first sight. Not even, Joe recalled, instant lust. Callie would be the first to admit that most male glances slid right past her to snag on long-legged, tawny-haired Kate or laughing, flirtatious, extremely stacked Dawn.
Joe had experienced the same initial testosterone spike when introduced to the other two women. Right up until Callie had turned her head and nailed him with those purple eyes. But it wasn’t until he saw her trying to disguise her reaction to those emails that she snagged more than a casual interest.
At first it was the cop in him. The military-trained investigator turned covert operator turned personal security expert. Then it was her insistence she could handle the problem herself. Then...
“Didja see that one, Joe? Didja?”
“I did. Good job, kid.”
Then, Joe remembered, it was Brian and Dawn setting sparks off each other. And Kate and Travis getting back together. And the playboy prince putting the moves on Callie.
Carlo’s heavy-handed seduction attempts had pissed Joe off more than they should have. They also got him thinking about things he hadn’t allowed himself think about since Curaçao. Like someone to come home to. Hell, a home to come home to. And maybe, just maybe, a son like Tommy.
Suddenly impatient, Joe pushed away from the garden wall. “A couple more throws, kid.”
“Not yet. I’m just gettin’ good.”
“Yes, yet. I want to finish talking to Callie. Besides,” he added, taking a cue from Dawn’s devious tactics, “your dad should be home soon. You don’t want to wear out your arm before you show him your moves.”
“’Kay. Four more.”
“Two.”
“Three.”
“This one,” Joe said in a tone that brooked no further argument, “and one more.”
* * *
Inside the kitchen warmed by the dancing flames from a brick fireplace, Dawn and Callie cradled cups of steaming cappuccino and watched the action through frost-rimmed bay windows.
They’d just placed several calls. The first to Dawn’s husband, Brian, to break the news that Joe had ID’d the originator of the emails. Another to the remaining member of their female triumvirate.
Kate had whooped with joy and relief and insisted they celebrate. Tonight. Before Joe disappeared again on one of his bodyguard gigs for some rock star or South American dictator. She and Travis would bring the champagne and sparkling cider. Dawn and Callie could take care of the eats.
They accomplished their assigned task by calling in a to-go order for tapas and paella at Paoli, a top-rated Mediterranean restaurant just a few blocks from the house. Which left them plenty of time to sip their cappuccinos and watch the outside activities.
“Joe’s really good with Tommy,” Dawn commented casually.
Too casually. Callie recognized that okay-whatever-I’m-just-saying tone. She buried her nose in the frothy brew and waited. Sure enough, Dawn plunked her own cup down and cut to the chase.
“C’mon, Cal. Give. To paraphrase my precocious little imp, what was with all that kissing ’n’ stuff?”
Callie lowered her cup and met her friend’s eager gaze. Her own, she knew, no doubt mirrored the welter of confusing emotions Joe Russo roused in her.
“I’m not sure. It’s just... Well... Look, you’ve known Joe as long as I have.”
“But not as well, obviously.”
The drawled retort raised a smile, followed by a rueful grimace.
“The truth is, I don’t know him as well as it might have appeared. Aside from the fact he can’t—or won’t—talk about his past, he’s not exactly loquacious.”
“No kidding. But back to that kiss. It wasn’t the first, was it?”
“No.”
“And?”
“And what?”
“Don’t play innocent with me, sister. You might come across as all demure and innocent to outsiders, but Kate and I were peeking through the blinds when you sweet-talked Pimple Face Hendricks into dropping his drawers and showing off his prized possession.”
“For pity’s sake! We were, what? Eight or nine years old?”
“Old