Now, her next problem was to figure out what the hell she was going to wear, because she had not packed anything suitable for one of LA’s hottest, richest weddings.
Chapter Nine
Carrick
“I’m just by that clusterfuck of crap in front of UCLA,” Carrick grunted into his cell as the pickup truck idled on the side of the road in Santa Monica. “You know, that thing they are calling art.”
“Oh, fuck—you’re at the ugly statue.” Delta chuckled. “Be there in a second.”
Carrick ended the call and looked out of the window, across the street to where Danica was. He couldn’t make out her form anymore through the glass windows of the trendy indie boutique and guessed she’d gone into the changing room. She wouldn’t let him go in, complaining that his looming presence would stress her out as she desperately searched for something to wear for the wedding. He had no idea what she was after, but he knew they had less than an hour to be at the ceremony, and LA traffic wasn’t forgiving.
Finally, in his rear-view mirror, he saw a dark pickup pull up behind him. Delta always came through. Always. There was a reason why Carrick relied on him.
Delta came around the front of the truck with a long, zipped-up suit bag in hand. Carrick opened the door and greeted him, taking the bag.
“Thanks, buddy,” Carrick said, unzipping it and seeing his most expensive navy-blue suit, a dress shirt, tie and his shoes inside—the only one that would even begin to pass as fitting in at the Bel Air wedding.
Remaining silent, Delta put his hands on his hips, his face serious and hard under the beating Southern California sun. He looked tired, worn down. Carrick realized something was wrong and turned to face his crewmate.
“I don’t like this,” Delta warned, reaching up to run his hands across his face and over the long scar that started at his cheekbone then went up to his eyebrow.
That scar was a constant memory of heroism, Carrick thought, remembering the day Delta had gotten it. The man had done things that Carrick had never seen a SEAL do.
“There’s something wrong with this job.”
“I know,” Carrick replied, feeling the same concerns.
“I don’t trust Petrov. Did you read his AARs?” Delta questioned, keeping his tone cool. “I flipped you the intel. It was fucking hard getting my hands on that, so you’d better read it.”
“I haven’t had time,” Carrick exhaled, keeping his eye out for Danica in the shop. He still couldn’t see her…and that was starting to make him nervous. Two more minutes and he was busting in there.
Delta followed his line of sight to the shop, and looked back, assessing.
“Been distracted?” Delta asked, keeping his tone light.
Carrick shot him a warning look.
Delta flexed his jaw and stared down his friend. “You really need to read the intel. Don’t go to that wedding. Cut this job now.”
“Why?”
Delta discreetly looked side to side, seeming to check their surroundings, and said, “Petrov crime family—heard of them? Your buddy Kosta runs the Russian mafia here in LA. You do not want to fuck with this guy.”
Carrick’s mouth opened as he processed, narrowing his gaze back on the shop then back to Delta. Now, it was all starting to make sense. He knew a thing or two about the mafia—and it wasn’t pretty.
“What about her?” Carrick nodded to the shop.
Delta shrugged, a dark shadow crossing his face.
“I can’t just throw her to the wolves,” Carrick said, his back stiffening. “You know what those people will do to her?”
“It’s not your job to save her. This is her family.”
“Well, we can’t exactly call the cops now, can we?” Carrick responded, realizing his advice to Danica needed to be tweaked. Her options for fighting back were diminishing by the minute.
I’m her only option left.
“There’s one cop I know…” Delta started, his head cocking to the side. That was a road Carrick didn’t want to go down.
“You’ve burned that bridge, haven’t you? She hates your ass,” Carrick pointed out. “Look… I’ve run ops solo in five different fucked-up countries. I’ve fought my way out of foreign prisons and backwater torture camps. I can handle the fucking mafia.”
“You’re too distracted.” Delta stepped forward, fiercer. “And now you’re not just putting her at risk here. You’re putting yourself at risk, too. The mafia will ruin you.”
Carrick stepped a half-foot back, looking down at his friend—a guy who was like a brother to him, a guy who’d been there.
“I’m not leaving her.”
“Then read the intel,” Delta finally snapped, never letting up the intensity. “And focus, for fuck’s sake. I didn’t save your ass from a body bag in Syria just to watch you die in LA.”
“Fine,” Carrick retorted. “I’ll read it when I get back. For now, I need you handle the office. McDonough wants an update on her missing son in Peru, and I need you to explain to her it’s looking like a kidnapping.”
And just as the last words rolled off his tongue, he noticed movement across the street. Danica appeared, coming out of the shop door. And damn, Carrick’s jaw nearly hit the floor. She was fully decked out, ready for the wedding.
Christ, she was looking unbelievably fucking hot.
He had to keep it together.
He had to help her.
And what he wanted to do to her? That sure as hell wasn’t going to help her at all.
“Oh look, a fucking sniper is about to take you out,” Delta muttered sarcastically as the lithe brunette crossed the street, absorbing every ounce of Carrick’s attention.
Carrick heard Delta’s words but nothing registered, not even the fact that Delta was dead right that Carrick was brutally distracted.
All he could see was Danica pulling down the edges of her short, tight black dress and nearly stumbling as her black stiletto leather heels clicked across the pavement on the street. The cute-shy thing was killing him, and his cock hardened and lengthened down his pant leg. The thing that was almost his undoing was when she shot a shy grin at him and Delta as she waltzed over, like she had no idea what an absolute rocket she was.
“This is all they had that fit.” She shrugged, looking down at the pavement and fumbling with her small clutch bag. “So…”
“It’s fine,” Carrick choked out and turned back to the truck, a hot flush running up his neck.
Back to mission-focused, Carrick immediately got down to business, unzipping the suit bag and whipping off his gray long-sleeved T-shirt. He’d changed in the middle of war zones and war ships. He didn’t need a private dressing room to get ready.
“You look nice.” Delta smoothly complimented Danica behind him, shooting up his ire.
Delta was moving Danica around the back of his truck, creating space between them. Carrick didn’t like that, so he hopped into the truck and finished whipping on the suit as quick as he could, smoothing back his hair in the rearview mirror as he kept his eye on them. What was Delta going to say to her?
Within a minute after tying up his oxblood leather modern-styled dress shoes, he jumped out of the truck to collect Danica. They had little time left if they were going to get to the wedding and fly under the radar with the rest of the guests. That was the plan, after all—a show of face and a quick, quiet exit, keeping up appearances that everything was fine before he helped Danica figure out her next steps.
She was onto something. They needed time to plan her escape.
Danica looked up at him, tucking a lock of shiny brown hair behind her ear as he approached. Her long hair was almost down to her waist and had developed a beautiful, natural soft wave to it as they’d gotten closer to the ocean air.
But that wasn’t all he noticed. There was something different about the way she looked at him as he stomped toward them in his blue suit, smoothing back his hair until it obeyed.
“Take a picture,” he grunted sarcastically,
rolling his eyes. “This doesn’t happen often.”
“You need a shave.” Delta leaned back, looking at his friend. “Maybe some sleep.”
Carrick rubbed his five-o-clock shadow, which had turned more into a two-day shadow. His dark, overgrown stubble and quickly styled hair made him look exactly how he’d looked jumping off the plane after a deployment. All he needed was a flesh wound, but then again, he already had that on his forearm, compliments of the mountain lion.
“Ready to go?” Carrick looked at Danica as she stood before him in her slinky black dress. He bit his tongue, not wanting to let his friend in on how deep his attraction was to her. He preferred Delta not know that he was right.
She nodded quickly, darting her gaze to the passenger side of the truck.
“You kids have fun now.” Delta offered a shallow grin then shot a pissed-off look at Carrick. “Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.”
“That isn’t much,” Carrick scoffed.
“Difference between me and you is that I can pull it off.”
As Danica started walking around the pickup with raised eyebrows, Carrick leaned forward to share some parting words with Delta.
“Fuck off.”
Delta shook his head, grabbed his keys out of his pocket and turned to head out.
Spinning back to the driver’s side of the truck, Carrick yanked on the door handle after he straightened his white open-collar dress shirt under his navy-blue jacket in the exterior paint’s reflection.
Even for a wedding, he wasn’t going to put on the tie.
Fuck that.
As Carrick whipped open the truck door, an unfortunately timed memory flashed to the front of his mind. Two years ago, his beautiful fiancée had been grinning back over her shoulder at him, asking him if he was seriously going to refuse to wear a tie on their wedding day. Wouldn’t he make an exception just once? He remembered that they’d been at their condo on Coronado Island, a stone’s throw from the West coast SEAL base. And in the memory, Carrick was grumbling back to her while reading the morning news and drinking coffee. Since when had planning a wedding been so divisive? Wasn’t it supposed to be their day? Her gentle laughter in response punctured the moment, and Carrick found himself leaning against the truck door, winded.
Sucking in Santa Monica’s dry, coastal air, he heard Danica’s distant voice inside the truck, asking if he was okay. Carrick shook his head, regaining himself. Christ, the day was cracking up to be worse than yesterday, and the real fun was yet to come. It wasn’t just ties that he didn’t do. He didn’t do weddings either.
Not since Lauren had died.
Not since their wedding had never fucking happened.
Chapter Ten
Carrick
I shouldn’t have driven a pickup truck here, Carrick chastised himself as he approached the Bel Air Bay Club just north of LA. Every other vehicle lined up for the wedding’s valet parking was some luxury car that was worth more than a Navy SEAL’s salary, war money and retention bonuses included. They were in ‘fucking rich-boy country’ now, alongside the Pacific Ocean, not far from Malibu or Beverly Hills.
“What are you doing?” Danica said quickly as he pulled out of the lineup and drove toward the staff parking lot. “I don’t think you are allowed to do that.”
Lush green gardens shielded them from further onlookers as they pulled around the corner of the massive white stucco and glass clubhouse.
“We have to keep a low profile, Dani,” he explained, watching over his shoulder as some guy in a white uniform came running out to talk to them.
Carrick rolled down the window and smiled at the club’s harried employee, casually slipping a one-hundred-dollar bill into the guy’s hand.
“Can I park here?” he asked knowingly, seeing the employee nod quickly. “I’m not a valet kind of guy.”
Carrick shot a smooth, appreciative smile back, slipped another one-hundred-dollar bill into the guy’s hand and moved to park in the spot where the employee was motioning. As he put the truck in park, he turned to Danica.
“Just follow my lead,” he said, turning off the engine, and looking over at her. “Here’s the plan. Today you are going to set the tone. You are strong. You are no one’s property. You are not to be fucked with. Tomorrow, we will figure out the next step.”
He watched her lips tighten, nearly turning white underneath whatever lip gloss she had on. She was nervous…scared. Carrick leaned toward her, stretching his suited arm across her naked shoulders, feeling the softness of her skin under his calloused hands. Reaching up to her chin, he gently turned her head to him and stared intensely into her eyes.
“Listen to me, trust me and everything will be okay,” he furthered the briefing. “Don’t go anywhere I can’t see you.”
As soon as the words rolled off his tongue, she shrank into her seat like a wounded creature. Trust. There was something about that word that she hated. And damn, he knew she had good reason to have trust issues—especially with men.
What did this Petrov character do to her?
Carrick pulled back, slowly dragging his arm across her shoulder, watching her reaction as he did it. She wasn’t repulsed by him at least. No, she seemed almost to lean into his arm, taking the assurance he was offering. He grinned, never breaking eye contact with her. Carrick had been trained in reading people, in psychology. And, also unfortunately for her, he was on a mission.
Whether she likes it or not.
“How did you stay hidden from him for so long?” Carrick probed further, then waiting patiently for her to reply.
She was either going to lie or placate him. That was the game they played.
“I just stayed off the gird. I had no life,” she replied curtly, but less than convincingly. “Let’s get this done so I can just move on.”
Carrick grazed his teeth across his lip, looking out over the grass, nodding in understanding. It was time to get shit done.
Time to turn Dani’s life around.
Within minutes, Carrick had escorted Danica around the corner of the clubhouse toward the back, where the ceremony was set to begin shortly. Wedding guests milled around several stand-up serving stations, enjoying the open bar on the stone patio in the sunshine. It was now late afternoon, nearly evening.
A waitress passed him a glass of white wine, and he took it politely, narrowing his eyes on Danica as she leaned over the cocktail table before them to read the vegan options on the dinner menu. He didn’t miss how her hands trembled. Looking back over the crowd and scene, he observed a wide, groomed yard that had a decorative floral altar framing the beautiful stretch of beach behind it. Everything screamed money. Big money. And as the birds sang above the Pacific Ocean and the sun cast a simmering amber glow over the guests, Carrick only had one question.
What kind of world does she come from?
There were enough chairs for five hundred people, Carrick guessed, realizing just how huge the wedding was. Everyone was rich and fake and painted. He leaned back into the bar, keeping his distance from a scene that was completely not his. Enough wedding guests surrounded him that he felt nearly camouflaged. Looking up into the large glass windows of the clubhouse, he saw more lighting and floral arrangements on wedding tables. That was where the reception would be.
As he looked back at her, watching her long, black lashes flutter, it really hit him. Danica was the black sheep here. She didn’t fit in. She was one of those free-spirit types, happy with nothing—as long as she had sunshine and nature. Carrick couldn’t wipe the admiring smirk off his face, watching Danica shut the menu in a huff, mumbling something about a lack of awareness for alternative diets.
Carrick leaned in, his elbows on the high table as he kept his voice low enough so only she could hear. “What do I need to know?”
Danica glanced up to him and spoke in a near-whisper, “The bride, Varya, is my father’s cousin’s daughter. She’s marrying a Russian man, bringing him over to the States—someone who does business with the f
amily.”
“An immigration scheme?” Carrick asked carefully, keeping his voice low.
“That’s what’s expected of the women in this family,” Danica replied, her voice lower. “And that’s why I ran…”
“The CEO of Petrov’s business… He’s Russian?” Carrick replied, the wheels turning fast in his head.
“Yes,” Danica replied, her big amber eyes flitting up to him, full of fear. “That’s why—”
But before she could finish her sentence, she just shook her head and stared back into Carrick’s eyes. While the west coast sun was dipping lower in the sky, Carrick drank in his date’s beautiful golden tan as her skin seemed to sparkle. Damn, she is something to look at.
In a small voice, she finally whispered, “I just want out of this family.”
The way she pursed her lips and seemed to beg for help through her eyes alone stirred that thing within him he couldn’t control. There was something about her that made him want to fight all the harder, something worth fighting for.
“Need a drink?” Carrick asked, eyeing the bar behind them.
As she shook her head, he left his undrunk glass of white wine and moved toward the pop-up bar. It wasn’t far, but his decision was strategic. He had to create distance from her. She was the most distracting woman he’d ever met. Is it her fault? Or mine? Her clear desperation shot to his core. That same need to protect the vulnerable crashed to the front of his awareness.
Carrick tried to flush the vision of her pert cleavage popping up and out of that slinky dress as he looked around, trying to keep an eye out for Petrov. Shit, it wasn’t easy to stay focused. Delta might have been right.
Leaning against the bar, he ordered a Jack and Coke, more to blend in than anything. He hadn’t had a drink in over a year. He wasn’t supposed to. As Carrick brought the chilled mixed drink to his lips, taking a heavier swig than he should have, a familiar elderly Slavic man with a balding head and a slow, pained gate waddled up to Danica.
Petrov—the man, the legend, Carrick thought, as he nearly crushed the drink in his hand. But he leaned back, intent on observing the interaction. What was interesting was that Petrov wasn’t alone. He ushered forward a lean blond man with a cunning face, who was draped in a sharply cut eggplant-colored suit.
Under Control Page 7
