Chronic (Se7en Deadly SEALs Book 2)

by Albertson, Alana

  I handed her the helmet. I didn’t know what to think—her body language conflicted with her words. No way would she turn down an opportunity to hang out with my friends if she was Mia. But why did she look so sad? I fought the urge to comfort her.

  She pushed the helmet over her head and gave me an empty stare. “And who it is that I say I am to you?”

  She had a point. Though Ksenya had met my buddies, and would be working for Kyle, we never brought strippers to family functions. But Annie was cool and would probably feel bad for Ksenya. “Just tell them you’re my girlfriend.”

  Her chin dropped and she gave a weak nod.

  I squeezed her hand, and she climbed on the back of my bike, wrapping her tight body against me.

  What just happened? I suspected that she would be nervous to be around people who knew Mia, but I didn’t understand why she seemed to be wincing. Mia loved babies, and she had to know I was talking about Pat and Annie’s newborn. I was still suspicious Ksenya was Mia, but something was off. Either way, I needed to take her to this party, see how she acted around my friends. She had to slip up soon.

  I took off on the bike, the road rumbling under me, Ksenya’s head nestled against my back. Though the sounds of the traffic and the roar of the engine vibrated loudly in my helmet, I could almost swear I heard sobs, her tears blown away by the wind.

  ***

  MY MIND RACED AS WE drove toward Pat and Annie’s place. What was today? Christmas? I was being invited to another SEAL gathering. This was too easy—way too easy. But my nerves and skin felt raw and exposed. I couldn’t shake the feeling that Grant was on to me.

  I’d only met Annie once briefly at the sendoff when Joaquín deployed last summer. She seemed shy, withdrawn, overwhelmed and spent most of the day latched on to Pat. Ever since this nightmare started with my brother, whenever I felt sorry for myself I would think of Annie being kidnapped, forced into sex slavery, and still finding the will to live. Learning about her survival strengthened my faith and gave me perspective about my own predicament. Unfortunately today I would be meeting her as Grant’s stripper sidepiece, a reminder of the sex industry she’d fought so hard to escape.

  Grant parked his bike and I hopped off. He stored our helmets, took my hand and walked me through the door. Why was he bringing a stripper to this family function? I still couldn’t shake the feeling that he was on to me.

  Pat opened the door, his son Gabriel tugging at his leg.

  “Are you here to see my baby sister?”

  Grant knelt before Gabriel. “Yes, we are, little man.”

  Gabriel’s dark skin and chocolate-colored curls were a sharp contrast to Pat’s fair complexion and blond hair. Despite the fact that Gabriel wasn’t Pat’s biological son, I could tell that Pat adored him. I glanced up at Grant, my throat thick, my stomach churning. Would Grant have done the same for me? Love my child by another man? No matter how that child had been conceived? I pushed the thought out of my head. I had to focus on this party, the people here, and stay the course.

  “Congrats bro.” Grant shook Pat’s hand. “This is Ksenya. Ksenya, this is my buddy Pat.” Grant winked at Pat.

  Pat raised an eyebrow toward Grant and shook my hand. “Nice to meet you, Ksenya. The ladies are fawning over the baby in the nursery. First door on the right.”

  Dammit, I had to go in there by myself? Face a bunch of SEAL wives and girlfriends as Grant’s stripper flame? I’d rather face a firing squad.

  But Team wives were bound by their own secret code. I’d take what I could get. At this point, anything would help.

  Grant followed Pat and Gabriel out to the backyard where the men were drinking and barbequing. I spotted the usual suspects through the glass doors—Kyle, Vic, Paul, and Joe. Rounding out the group, I noticed a guy with a Marine Corps high and tight cut, a blonde surfer-looking dude with a mop of hair . . . and Mitch.

  My pulse quickened. I was so thankful Grant brought me here, despite my awkwardness. I surveyed my clothes: a flowy, pink blouse paired with fitted white pants, nude pumps, and a designer handbag. I was going for nouveau Russki chic, a far cry from Mia’s uniform of vintage T-shirts, distressed jeans, and rhinestone flip-flops. At least I wasn’t dressed like I just shimmied down the pole. I walked down the hallway and stood in the doorway of the nursery, waiting for an invite to join the ladies.

  Annie was holding her baby, wrapped tightly in a pink blanket. Four other women were in the room. I saw two Team wives whom I knew from when I was Mia. Another woman had dark curly hair and sat directly next to Annie. The remaining two included a stunning blonde with a dancer’s body, and a gorgeous African-American woman wearing a white sundress.

  I waved hesitantly at Annie, struck by the glow of new motherhood. Already a natural beauty, her skin was translucent, her hair dark and shiny. She motioned me into the room. I didn’t know what to say, conscious of my fake accent, my lies. “Hi. My name, it is Ksenya. I’m here together with Grant.”

  Paul’s wife, Dara, gave me a dirty look and Joe’s wife, Tori, didn’t even glance at me. I was sure they’d suspected exactly where Grant had met me. I expected to be scorned at by Dara but Tori’s dismissal shocked me. I never thought she’d be so openly rude. Tori had been my idol once, the dream Team wife. Totally committed to her husband since high school, faithful, great mom.

  But more notable than who was there, was who wasn’t. Where was April, Mitch’s wife? I’d last seen her at The Pickled Frog right after Joaquín was arrested. April always went to SEAL family events. In fact, she did her best never to let Mitch out of her sight, which was clearly a hard task.

  Annie looked up from her newborn. “Nice to meet you, Ksenya. Thanks for coming.” Her voice was soothing and warm.

  Tori didn’t acknowledge my existence. “Annie, I’m gonna go check on the boys.” Dara followed Tori closely, as if they were bound together by a leash.

  The other ladies gave me polite nods, but no one offered an introduction. I tiptoed into the room, placed my purse on the floor, and stared at this tiny baby in her arms, doing my best to blink back tears.

  “Her name is Cherie Esperanza. Do you want to hold her?” Annie’s kind eyes focused on me, as if she understood me. Or maybe the emotions in the room were causing me to read way more into this situation.

  Esperanza—hope in Spanish. Could meeting this little baby be a sign for me not to lose hope? I didn’t want to hold Cherie, not because I felt cold and emotionally dead inside, though that was part of it. I didn’t want to cradle her, see her cute little button nose, lips the shape of a bow. One coo and I’d have a breakdown. Not here, not now. Not when I’d come so far to forget.

  Before I could object, Annie placed the precious baby in my arms. I held in a breath as the fresh new baby smell wafted through my nostrils. One lone tear escaped from my eye before I could stop it. This beautiful baby forced me to savor living in the moment. A lump grew in the back of my throat and for the first time since I’d transformed, I was angry. Angry at the man who ruined my life and destroyed my relationship with Grant. Angry at the drunk driver who killed my parents. Angry at whoever killed Tiffany. And frankly, angry that Joaquín was stupid enough to put himself in a situation like that. I had to believe this life detour was part of my path and that one day, I’d be lucky enough to have my own family. Joaquín would be free, he would rebuild his life and so would I.

  Cherie started squirming. I didn’t want to let her go—I held her so tight, and reluctantly handed her back to her mother.

  “I’m gonna try to put her down,” she said in a whisper. “I’ll join you all out in the backyard when I’m done.”

  The blonde with the dancer’s body left the room with me, while the other two women stayed behind with Annie. Once outside the house, the blonde approached me. “Sorry, I didn’t introduce myself back there. I’m Sara. How long have you known Grant?”

  I studied her face; she looked familiar. “Only a short time. He is good man. Who are you together with?
”

  She laughed. “Kyle.”

  Whoa. I’d known Kyle for over four years. He’d never had a girlfriend, ever. Such a player. I was intrigued though that he possibly could’ve found whatever he was looking for.

  Outside, Sara joined Tori and Dara at the patio table. Pat was grilling while that surfer dude, and the Marine helped him out.

  I made my way over to Grant and his buddies—Kyle, Pat, Joe, Vic, and Paul. Grant put his arm around me. “Ksenya, this is my buddy Joe.”

  “Nice to meet together with you.” I offered my hand. Joe looked the same—hulking arms, long brown hair, brown eyes. But he almost seemed too good to be true.

  Kyle winked at me. “I have an announcement. This beautiful doll has just been hired as the new bartender at The Pickled Frog. I know you’ll all miss Vic’s ass moping around, but I’ll just keep him in the kitchen since no one wants to look at him.”

  Vic’s lips widened into a grin. “That’s not what Sara said last night.”

  All the men just laughed. I held back my own giggle, a tinge of sadness creeping over me. I used to love listening to Joaquín and his buddies razz each other.

  Vic was sexy as all hell, dark skin, glinting eyes, dimples for days, full-sleeved tattoos. Since his divorce a few years ago, I’d never seen him with another woman. He didn’t seem like the stripper-loving type. Then again neither had Joaquín or Grant.

  My attention turned to Paul. Totally stood out from the rest of the men—short brown hair, no tattoos. If you ignored his cut body, he could easily pass as a Wall Street banker. He had money, was educated at Annapolis, a classy officer type. The party Tiffany died at was held at his in-laws home.

  Maybe an unknown person had been at the party. I couldn’t imagine any of these men, killing Tiffany. There had to be another explanation.

  But I had to remember that no matter how these men acted, they were all Navy SEALs. They all had a dark side. And I was determined to find out what each one’s vice was.

  Grant narrowed his eyes, squinting at me. “Can I get you a drink, babe?”

  Before I could answer, I noticed Mitch inside the kitchen. I needed to talk to him. Alone.

  “I go to get it myself. I left my purse inside. Do you want one another beer?” I’d purposely left my purse in the nursery just in case I needed an excuse to snoop around.

  His lips gave me a sly smile, which made me wonder what he was thinking. Then, he answered, “Always.”

  Yeah, that’s what I thought. SEALs drank and swam like fish.

  I walked back into the house and strolled slowly down the hallway perusing the photos on the wall: Pat and Annie’s wedding photo, a beaming Gabriel by their side, a picture of Pat kissing Annie at last homecoming. Hell, there were even pictures of them doing one of those cheesy maternity photo shoots with Pat rubbing her belly. Man, he must be whipped. I reached the doorway. Before I knocked, I held my breath, hoping to overhear something.

  Luck was on my side.

  Annie spoke in a low tone. “But Grace, I just can’t believe Joaquín murdered someone. God knows all the SEALs have serious issues—fuck I met Pat because he hired me in a brothel. But murder? Yes, they are trained killers, but they have this code. I don’t buy it, since Pat said that Joaquín was such a great guy. There just has to be another explanation. Maybe something in Tiffany’s past. It’s still so fucking tragic, especially the way the media acts like it was her fault. Like her life has no value because of her job. After what I went through, it pisses me off. You’re FBI… can’t you investigate?”

  Grace didn’t immediately respond. The conversation lulled, and I didn’t want to look suspicious. I knocked on the door, and Annie let me in. Apologizing, I grabbed my purse and headed back toward the kitchen with a new spring in my step.

  I had read everything I could about Tiffany, but the information I’d found had been scarce. I needed to launch a new investigation. Find out more about the victim and maybe then I could find her killer.

  I poured some cranberry juice and vodka into a red Solo cup for myself, grabbed another beer for Grant, and waited for Mitch to approach.

  I didn’t have to wait long.

  He slapped my ass, his whisky-spiked breath hot on my ear. “I knew you’d sneak away from him. Couldn’t stop thinking about me?”

  What a conceited prick. Grant was sexy as fuck and even if he didn’t just happen to be the love of my life, any woman would be thrilled to be with him. There was definitely no need to be fantasizing about Mitch when I had Grant.

  But, although I would never admit it aloud, I did get Mitch’s appeal—he was a true bad boy. A sexy, ripped, dirty-talking, arrogant, no fucks given, asshole. Sex seeped out of his pores. Luckily, I was able to resist his charms.

  Time to play him.

  I traced his chest with my fingernails. “No, handsome. I could not. But I worry. Grant made me quit it—my job at Panthers. I do not have the money anymore.” I batted my eyelashes. Seemed cliché but it always worked on the customers at Panthers. I needed to hear his response; if there was shady prostitution activity going on in this town, involving these strippers, Mitch would be the first to know about it.

  My eyes focused on his ring finger—his wedding ring was absent. Married SEALs never wore their rings at work, but they usually wore them at parties like this. Had he and April divorced? He was acting even slimier than usual. Maybe I’d be able to find some clues when I analyzed the data on his phone from the tracking device.

  He knocked back his beer, his other hand rubbing my left thigh. “This is your lucky day, babydoll. Meet me downtown tonight. There’s this club, Diamond, on Market Street. Without Grant. I’ll make sure he’s called into work. You can thank me by giving me a private dance. I’d love to have those gorgeous titties rubbing all over my face. Maybe if you’re lucky, I’ll come all over them.”

  I tried to give him a coy smile while I fought the bile that was trying to come up into my throat. “Diamond? I heard it is good club. My friend Autumn told to me about it.”

  His tongue darted out to lick his lips. “You know Autumn? I didn’t know Grant let his girls party together. Maybe you, Autumn and I can have some fun later—you can lick her pussy while I fuck you from behind. Would you like that babydoll?”

  What in the fuck?! God, this man was so vile. He didn’t even care that I was with his friend, a man who would die for him. Or then again, maybe these SEALs always shared their strippers. I prayed Grant didn’t treat any woman like this, no matter what her occupation was.

  “I do not like women, the way I like men.”

  His smile looked even sleazier than I’d seen it look before. “Have you ever been with a woman?”

  “No. Women to me, they are beautiful. But I like men,” I replied, shaking my head.

  I wanted to flee. But he had invited me to Diamond. And Autumn had mentioned that club to me the other night. This couldn’t be a coincidence—I now had solid proof that SEALs on Joaquín’s Team partied at Diamond.

  “I’ll meet you there at seven. Don’t be late.”

  I glanced toward Grant to make sure he wasn’t watching us. Then I steadied my nerves, and whispered into Mitch’s ear, “I will be there. Thank you.”

  He held my gaze for a moment, looking grossly satisfied with himself, before shoving me against a cabinet, his huge cock pressing into me. I gasped, and recoiled at his touch—then remembered my purpose and playfully slapped him. He let out a devilish laugh before releasing me.

  I headed to the backyard, holding my drink and Grant’s beer. Though my flesh crawled and I had a bitter taste in my mouth, hope beamed inside of me. I was confident there would be a clue at Diamond.

  ***

  AS HE HAD PROMISED, MITCH roped Grant into some kind of work emergency. Luckily for me, being a Navy SEAL BUD/S instructor was a twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week job.

  I turned my key into the doorknob of my apartment; the place I lived in was a dump. My roommate, Olga, didn’t say a
word to me as she eyed me from her permanent place in front of the television. But a quick, disgusted snort told me exactly what she thought of me. I wanted to move out, I wished I could live with Grant. Even in my current incarnation, I only truly felt safe when he was by my side. But at the moment that was out of the question—I needed a refuge to do some of my own intel, away from his glaring eye.

  Perfect example was the tracking device I’d put on Mitch’s phone. I grabbed my small laptop, and logged in to the private portal Roman had set up for me. A few key swipes, and I was in. Data filled the screen. I poured myself a glass of rosé and settled in to read.

  At first glance, nothing stood out. A bunch of messages to his command, his friends. Hell, he even checked in with his mom. As I went back further, I saw some messages to his wife, April. Yup, they weren’t together anymore. I didn’t know if they were divorced or what, but their messages were terse. She was living back home in Seattle, and it looked like most of her texts to him had gone unanswered. I definitely had to investigate that further. I can’t believe she finally left him. Sure, he was a jerk. But when I’d first met them, they had been so in love. Guess they were on the 90% side of that SEAL divorce rate after all.

  Marriage drama aside, another message stood out to me. To a Rafael. No text, no emoticons, just a smiley face.

  Why was he sending a guy a smiley face? I was certain Rafael wasn’t a SEAL. I’d never met him, and though he could be new, the established Frogmen never really hung out with the tadpoles.

  Maybe I was reading something into nothing. But there were no records of any other texts or calls to this number going thirty days back. I didn’t have enough information now to draw a conclusion, but I stored my suspicion for later use.

  I showered, changed, and got ready to meet Mitch. I dressed in a long silver evening gown; appropriate attire that I thought Ksenya would wear for an interview at a high-end strip club. Was Mitch setting me up? I just hoped Grant wouldn’t find out where I was or whom I was with.