Crazed (Se7en Deadly SEALs Book 3) (2 page)

I
woke with a wicked hangover
, not just from the copious amounts of whiskey I’d imbibed, but from Mia’s intoxicating scent. But the sharp rage that pulsed through my body quelled any desire to see her.

That lying bitch. Not only did she think I was stupid enough not to figure out her identity, but she felt that it was okay to lie to me about why she left me. I’d spent most of last night trying to figure out the timeline. The only time I hadn’t seen Mia for nine months was after she’d left me, which means that had to be when she had the baby. Even though we’d broken up, because of Joaquín I’d always seen her around at least every five months. She was petite, and there was a slight possibility that she had been barely showing and I had missed it, but that was unlikely, since every time I’d been in the same room with her, my eyes were helplessly drawn to her curves. I needed to know where her baby was, and if I was the father.

I picked up the phone and dialed. “Hey, I need to see you.”

The voice on the other line quickly agreed, and we arranged to meet at a coffeehouse.

An hour later, I sat at an outdoor table impatiently waiting with Hero curled by my feet.

I’d almost given up and headed back home, when I saw her walk through the door. I barely recognized her.

Gone were the fake eyelashes, the caked-on makeup, and the ridiculously high heels. She wore white short-shorts, a loose-fitting T-shirt, and flip-flops.

I stood up to greet her. “Hey, Autumn.”

“Hi, Grant. Sorry I’m late, the traffic was just crazy, you know? All the tourists just flock to the beach here in the summer. I totally hate it. Oh my God! Is this your dog? He’s gorgeous.”

I smiled and kissed her on the cheek. She knelt down to pet Hero, rubbing his ears until he groaned. This girl was refreshing. I’d liked her since the moment I’d met her at the party where Tiffany died. And when I’d run into her at the party I took Ksenya to last week, she’d approached me and offered to help Joaquín any way she could. She’d confided in me that she thought Tiffany was involved in something dark. At the time, I was hoping she could find some clue about who had actually killed Tiffany—now I hoped she could help me find Mia’s baby.

We waited in line at this beachy coffeehouse. Surfers with sand still on their wetsuits strolled in, and some hot girls in yoga pants crowded the bar. A young mom walked in, clutching her toddler’s hand, and I couldn’t help but stare.

After we were served our drinks, Autumn and I sat at a small table outside, a view of Moonlight Beach in the background. She squinted from the sunlight and then put on her oversized sunglasses. “So, what’s up? You said it was urgent.”

I had rehearsed exactly what to say in my head. Autumn was overly naïve and friendly. Anything I said could potentially be relayed to Mia. “I visited Joaquín in jail yesterday. Dude looks like shit. Bloated, depressed. A shell of the man he once was. He’s desperate. I was wondering if you heard anything else about Tiffany—you said you were going to visit her family?”

“Oh, yeah, I did. Did Ksenya tell you I took her?”

Mia went? Fuck. That must’ve been where she took off to on Sunday. “No. She didn’t. I’m done with her.”

“Really? You seemed super into her last night at Diamond.”

Ouch. I deserved that.

“Sorry, I shouldn’t have said that,” Autumn continued. “She’s nice, but kind of closed off, you know? Like she’s hiding something.”

Ha! Tell me about it.

“Well, yeah. So we drove up to Temecula. Have you ever been there? It’s super cool—has all these awesome vineyards. Ksenya seemed to like it. Anyway, we met Tiff’s mom, she’s super nice. Oh, did you know Tiff had a son, Julián? He’s so adorable.”

I gagged on my coffee. What the fuck? “No, I didn’t. It wasn’t mentioned in any of the papers.”

“Yeah, I mean she rarely talked about him and he lived with her mom. Isn’t that super weird. I would never want to be away from my baby. Want to see a picture?”

“Sure.”

Autumn took out her phone, and scrolled through some pics. The second I saw the boy’s face, my heart raced. He had almond-shaped eyes, long eyelashes and his mouth curled at the edge, just like Mia’s.

There was also a cleft on his chin.

Just like mine.

I squeezed my fist and grabbed Autumn’s arm. “Autumn, tell me everything you know about this boy. It’s important. Did Tiffany ever mention his father?”

Her eyes widened and I quickly released her. I couldn’t tell her my real suspicions. “Sorry, I just—I mean he looks like Joaquín. He’d told me he had never met Tiffany. I’m just trying to help him.”

“Wow, you mean you think he could be Joaquín’s son? That would be crazy. She said she barely knew the dad, said he was some psychopath drug dealer. She had him before I started working at Panthers. But yeah, even her mom mentioned the other day that she didn’t even know her own daughter was pregnant! I mean can you believe that? My parents suck but even I’d tell them if I was pregnant.”

No. No way. This couldn’t be. I needed to see this boy with my own eyes. Yes, there was a possibility that he could be Joaquín and Tiffany’s—maybe they had had a one-night stand years ago, but that would mean that Joaquín had been lying to me, and worse yet, he would have a motive for murder.

But there was also a chance this boy could be my son.

“You know what’s funny? Ksenya started acting all weird too when she met Julián. Asking all sorts of questions.”

My palms began to sweat. What did Mia know about Tiffany’s son? Had she given our child away to be raised by some random stripper’s mom? If there was any possibility that was true, I’d fucking killer her.

“Where is he? I need to see him with my own eyes. For Joaquín.”

Autumn tapped her nails on the table. “Well, I would offer to go with you but it would be weird for me to go back up because I was just there on Sunday. But I guess I could give you the address? Maybe you can see him in the neighborhood.”

“That would be great. Thank you.”

She shrugged. “You’re welcome.” She finished her coffee, then put her hand on my thigh. I pushed it off me.

“Look, Autumn. You’re a gorgeous girl and I really like you. But I’m not looking for anything serious right now, and you deserve to be taken seriously.”

Her eyes cast down. “It’s okay. I just really like you, Grant. Things could’ve been different between us. I wish, I mean for so many reasons, but I wish Tiffany hadn’t died that night.”

So do I.

She entered the address into my phone. We made a few more minutes of small talk, I gave her a hug, and then I got into my truck with Hero and headed to Temecula.

T
oday was Tuesday
, the first day of my new job bartending at the Pickled Frog.

I smoothed my jean skirt and pulled on the tight white T-shirt. Kyle would be training me all day. My end goal was to do a good job, get Kyle to trust me enough to keep me on staff, and to hopefully find another clue.

Driving to the bar, I struggled to focus with so much on my mind. I was still in shock that Mitch ended up behaving like a gentleman. He had even driven me home, walked me to my door and given me a goodnight kiss as if he were some eager schoolboy. His cocky demeanor had seemed to shed when I’d become real with him. I knew he had that scar, but was he really the man who had raped me?

Grant hadn’t called or texted. I still couldn’t figure out why he had kicked me out the other night just before we were finally going to have sex. What had I done that night that had spooked Grant? I would find a way to weasel myself back into Grant’s life.

Was Joaquín Julían’s father? What had Joaquín thought about after he saw me wearing Mia’s bracelet at the jail? Did he realize I was his sister in disguise? Was there anything else I couldn’t see? At this point, I had more questions than answers.

Kyle greeted me, pulling me out of my thoughts, and I was immediately disarmed by his smile. “Hey, sweetheart. How’ve you been?”

“Good.” I stopped and made a calculated decision. “I want to tell to you, Kyle—Grant and me, we are no longer together. I understand if you do not want me to work here no more.”

Kyle’s brow furrowed at me. “No worries. Grant’s not why I hired you. In fact, dating a Team guy is only a complication. As long as you work hard, we will have no problems, and if you ever need anything, just give me a call and I got your back. But let me give you a tip: it would be wise for you not to get involved with another frogman. We’re nothing but trouble.”

The sympathy card worked like a charm.
I gave a forced nod, but wondered at his motivation for giving me the warning. My non-paranoid guess would be that he would prefer his bargirl wasn’t dating the customers, which made perfect sense. One Team guy hitting on another Team guy’s woman usually ended in bloodshed, if not death. Or maybe Kyle’s comment meant that he suspected I was Mia, even though that was unlikely. Either way, Kyle had it all wrong. Grant wasn’t trouble—I was.

Kyle led me into the bar and proceeded to give me a detailed tour of the photos on the wall.

I paused over the pictures of the beautiful men: one was a former SEAL who had been killed protecting an ambassador in a terrorist attack overseas, another featured an entire Team whose helicopter was shot down in Afghanistan. I hoped to find a picture of Joaquín and his Team, but I knew better. No active duty SEAL would ever agree to have his identity exposed, and Kyle, an active SEAL himself, would never put his men in harm’s way. In fact, the reason he’d purchased this bar was to create a safe haven for his men. He helped out when he wasn’t on deployment, but left most of the day-to-day operations of the bar to his hired staff.

The lunch crowd slowly trickled in. Mostly older guys, probably former SEALs. A few took their place at the bar, ordering their usual spirits. The majority of them did not have wedding rings. My heart ached for these broken warriors. Many of them retired and then spent the rest of their lives chasing the adrenaline highs they experienced in the Teams, unable to find pleasure in the mundane details of everyday lives. Their loved ones were never able to understand the secret burdens these men carried to their graves.

Bartending wasn’t as simple as I thought. I had to cut lemons and limes, learn how to use the cash register, keep track of client tabs, take inventory of the liquor, and memorize cocktail recipes. Stripping had been way easier.

As my shift dragged on, I made small talk with the patrons, lied about my life back in the Ukraine, and laughed at their silly jokes.

Near closing time, a man walked in and sat down at the bar. He was clean-shaven—a rarity among these men—in his mid-forties, dark hair, piercing green eyes, and broad shoulders. “I’ll have a jack and coke.”

I prepared his drink, and though I turned away from him, his eyes remained fixed on me. More so than the general eye fuck the other men gave me. “Here you go, handsome. Do you have tab?”

“No.” The man’s eyes burned into my face. I could see his pupils trace my lips, my nose, my eyes, my chest. I instinctively covered my body with my arms.

“Where you from?” he asked, his voice deep and slow.

“Kharkov, in the Ukraine.”

“Sure you are.”

I let out a nervous laugh. Who was this man, and what did he think he knew?

He knocked back his drink, then slid a folded twenty across the bar. Without saying a word, he vanished.

I unfolded the bill and a small piece of paper floated out.

I’m on to you.

My hand shook as I shoved the paper into my apron pocket. I scanned the bar but he was gone. No one knew about my identity except Roman. Had I made a fatal error?

Well, my dumbass had shown Joaquín my bracelet at the jail yesterday, but only Joaquín would know what that bracelet meant. Maybe Joaquín had sent someone to check me out? Weren’t jails run like some sort of underground mafia? Like maybe he could’ve bribed a guard? A sudden coldness hit my core. I couldn’t even begin to imagine what Joaquín’s day-to-day life was like in the jail. He’d gone from being a hero to a caged animal. I closed my eyes and tried to push the image of my brother pounding license plates and eating a sandwich made of stale bread and slimy bologna out of my mind.

I focused on Kyle, who was cleaning glasses by the bar.

“Who that man is I serve?”

“The guy who just bolted? Never seen him. I doubt he’s a former Team guy—I’ve met most of them in these parts. Why? He hassle you?”

I shook my head. I had to keep this under wraps. “No. He look familiar to me, maybe I see him at club.”

My stomach churned and beads of sweat dripped down my forehead. If someone were on to me, I would be discovered. A ticking time bomb rang loudly in my ears. If I were smart, I would drive to Grant’s house, confess my sins, and beg for mercy.

But I had lost any sense of reason. Without Joaquín, without Grant, without my baby, without my parents, I had no ties to anyone. I yearned to feel something, to connect, to be reminded my own life had a purpose independent of saving Joaquín. That someone, somewhere, loved me. But for now, the most important task was to protect my identity.

At the end of my shift, I had made a little over two hundred dollars in tips. Nothing like what I made a night stripping, but definitely a decent sum nonetheless. Maybe I should’ve worked here when I was Mia, to pay my way through college; not that Grant, nor Joaquín for that matter, would have been thrilled with the idea of me serving a bunch of Team guys.

I said goodbye to Kyle and walked out the door, preparing to drive home and try to shake this unsettling experience. Candy-colored clouds loomed in the sunset. A gust of wind blew into my face and I became disoriented. In my haze, a heavy feeling arose in my gut. Something wasn’t right.

That man. Maybe I should’ve asked Kyle to drive me home. Or I could’ve called Grant. Hell, maybe I should’ve called Mitch.

No. I could handle this. That man, whoever he was, couldn’t possibly know my real identity. I’d crossed my t’s and dotted my i’s. Even Grant didn’t suspect who I was.

I ignored my paranoia and hurried into my car. As I drove down the freeway, my hands shook on the steering wheel. My fingers pressed on the volume, trying to drown my anxiety in a sea of heavy metal music. The blaring instruments pulsed through my body. I took a deep breath, hoping to calm my nerves.

After a few miles, I noticed a blue late-model Cadillac a few cars behind me. At first I hoped it was only heading the same direction as me. So I slowed my car, and it slowed behind me. I changed lanes, it changed lanes also. Dread filled my body.

I was being followed.

Hell, no. I would lose the car.

I swerved around another car and then pressed on the gas. My eyes kept glancing at the rearview mirror. The car was still on my tail. Dammit.

The freeway twisted up ahead. I refused to exit, not wanting to isolate myself. But the traffic was thin and the moon was dim. I sped along the highway, hugging the curves. Another glance in the mirror, and I knew I was screwed.

A loud boom that sounded like a gunshot rang out behind me, followed by the crinkling of metal and the popping of an air bag. Before I knew what was happening, my car barreled down an embankment and a sharp pain blasted through my body. The honking of horns and whizzing of cars added to my confusion as my face was crunched up against the air bag, stifling my screams. There was a gash on my forehead, and blood trickled down my face, pooling in my seat, making me wet and sticky. I arched my back, attempting to turn my throbbing neck to see what had happened, when glass flew by my face, followed by an angry man’s voice.

“Get the fuck out of the car.”