Overwhelming Force. Janie Crouch
Chapter Eighteen
She’d watched him for a year.
She’d traveled all over the country going wherever he went. Others might call it pathetic, but she didn’t think so. Besides, what else did she have to do since he’d taken everything from her?
Joe Matarazzo had cost her the man she’d loved. Losing everything after that—her job, her friends, her home—had been his fault, too. Joe Matarazzo had cost her the future.
So now she journeyed around and watched him. Or when she couldn’t travel she scoured the internet for information about him.
Whenever she heard his name on a police scanner she prepared to rush to the scene. She had no doubt he would save the day once again.
Why couldn’t he have saved the day when it had mattered the most?
Fire had taken the man she loved. Joe Matarazzo could have stopped it, but he hadn’t. Hadn’t tried hard enough, not like he would today. Not like how hard she’d seen him try in all his other successful situations. He had the most important job: rescuing those who couldn’t rescue themselves. Leading them to safety. Putting their lives before his own.
But he hadn’t done his job a year ago. Almost exactly a year ago now. On that day he hadn’t tried hard enough. Hadn’t cared enough about those he tried to help.
Since that time she had observed him, followed him, studied him. She knew everything about him. Because of that, she could say with a clear conscience that he was guilty.
The time had come for Joe Matarazzo to atone for his wrongdoings. To suffer for the lives he’d lost.
He’d paid no price for what he’d done. Instead, he had women, he had money, he had everything. But soon that would change. She would see to it.
First, Joe would fall. And as he did, he would know the pain of losing what he cared about most.
Then he would burn.
Just like the fire that had taken her love.
* * *
“CASANOVA HAS STRUCK AGAIN. I know it’s hard, fellas—don’t be jealous just because Joe Matarazzo looks better on your girl than her outfit.”
Joe rolled his eyes and tried to snatch the newspaper clipping out of Derek Waterman’s—Joe’s Omega Sector Critical Response Division colleague—hands. Derek shifted slightly, holding the paper just beyond Joe’s reach since they were both strapped into the bench seat of the twin-engine helicopter.
Who even read a physical newspaper anymore? Joe hadn’t looked at a news report that wasn’t on his smartphone or computer for years. Not that his dating life was news, print version or otherwise.
Joe had no idea why so many people would want to read about his love life. Yeah, his family had money—a lot of it—and yeah, he’d grown up with some Hollywood A-listers and ended up photographed a lot.
And yeah—he grinned just a little, glancing out the helicopter’s window as Derek continued to read and the seventy miles between Colorado Springs and Denver whirled past—Joe tended to be a bit of a bad boy. Had a reputation with the ladies.
So what? He liked women.
“The lady du jour was Natasha Suzanne Bleat, daughter of British diplomat Marcus Bleat...”
Joe tuned out as Derek read Natasha’s impressive list of family credentials through the headphones that allowed all of them to communicate with each other. Jon Hatton and Lillian Muir—the first an Omega profiler and the second Omega SWAT like Derek—listened raptly from the pilot and copilot seats where Lillian controlled the aircraft.
Seriously, Joe’s colleagues loved this stuff, ridiculous as it may be. They had a whole scrapbook full of Joe’s clippings.
Joe had grown up with press and had learned to pretty much ignore it. The press had their own agenda and nobody’s best interests in mind but theirs. He learned that lesson a little too late, but learned it.
And it wasn’t like paparazzi followed him around. Yet for whatever reason, gossip sites and society pages loved to report on his dating life. A dating life he had to admit was pretty extensive. Everyone called him Casanova. The press and even his colleagues at Omega.
Joe wasn’t offended. It took a hell of a lot more to offend him.
“...the redhead beauty was last seen entering the Los Angeles Four Seasons with Joe, arm in arm.”
Joe raised his gaze heavenward with a long-suffering sigh and waited for the rest, but that was it.
“Last seen?” Joe finally succeeded in snatching the paper away from Derek. “They make it sound like I killed her and hid her body.”
“Oh, it sounds like you did something to her body, but I don’t think anyone figures you killed her. At least not literally.” Lillian snickered from her pilot’s seat.
“I have no idea how you get so lucky, dude.” Derek closed his eyes and leaned farther back on the bench seat next to Joe. “No matter what city we’re in, the women throw themselves at you.”
Joe could’ve pointed out that speeding their way to a hostage negotiation scene was probably not the time to discuss the press version of his love life. But he knew this sort of distraction helped keep the team loose and relaxed.
There would be plenty of time for tension and focus when they landed and assessed the scene.
Joe shrugged. “What can I say? I’m #blessed, man.” He made the hashtag symbol with his hands, tapping his fingers together.
Everyone groaned.
“Don’t make me shoot you. I’d catch flack for shooting an unarmed man.” Derek didn’t open his eyes as he said it.
Joe was the only unarmed person in the helicopter. Although he was trained in the use of a number of weapons, he almost always went into situations unarmed.
He was Omega Sector’s top hostage negotiator. And he was damn good at his job.
Joseph Gregory Terrance Matarazzo III didn’t need a career. At least, didn’t need one for a salary. He’d been born with money, had known its benefits his entire life. Had used those benefits for a carefree, fun-loving existence until about six years ago when he’d turned twenty-five and decided maybe he’d like to do something with his time besides sit around and look good.
The laid-back, playboy, slacker and media darling had decided to become a better man.
Joe had skills. Not the same skills Derek had in his ability to formulate the best tactical advantage in any given hostile situation. Or the ones Lillian had with the many ways she could kill someone