Callie's Christmas Wish

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 enough to know Pimple Face didn’t have much to brag about. So spill it. Do you want Joe to deliver a repeat performance?”

There was only one answer to that. “Yes.”

“Hallelujah! It’s about time you took the plunge.”

“Wait! I’m not exactly plunging into any—”

“The heck you’re not. I can’t count the number of studs Kate and I have fixed you up with in the past few years. After every date you’ve smiled your enigmatic Mona Lisa smile and sent them on their way. Joe’s the first male you’ve invited back for seconds.”

“Dawn,” Callie protested, half laughing and half embarrassed at how close that barb had hit to home. “It was only a kiss. Although...”

“Although what, Langston?”

She played with her half-empty cup. She couldn’t understand her reluctance to share her silly wish with Dawn. God knows, they’d shared everything else in their lives. She hesitated another few seconds before yielding her secret.

“Okay, here’s the deal. Remember when the three of us tossed coins in the Trevi Fountain that first time?”

“Of course I do. But you, Miss Priss and Boots, wouldn’t make a wish. You insisted that just throwing in a coin satisfied tradition and we’d all return to Rome someday.”

“Actually, I did make a wish.”

“Which,” Dawn guessed instantly, “involved Joe Russo.”

“How could it? We didn’t meet him until a week later, in Venice.”