I applied the blood-red lipstick and stared again at this stranger in the mirror. Would I ever get used to looking like this? Once this was over, I wished I could go back to looking like me but sadly that wasn’t possible.
A short time later, I arrived at Diamond. Set in the heart of San Diego, the view of the Coronado Bridge in the background still took my breath away every time I looked at it. That bridge had once represented everything I’d loved about San Diego—Grant, Joaquín, the Navy SEALs, the Hotel Del. Now, my eyes just filled with tears at the mere sight of the lights in the distance.
My sparkly gown glowed in the moonlight. A few men catcalled me, but I kept my gaze ahead until I heard my phone beep. I glanced down and my heart sank when I saw the text.
Grant: Hey Babe. I miss you.
It was simple. Sweet. Not a sexual innuendo in sight. It was almost like he was way back when we were dating.
But I didn’t have time to respond. Behind the shiny glass doors, Mitch awaited. And hopefully a clue to Tiffany’s killer.
The doors swung open and before I could figure out where to go, Mitch appeared in front of me dressed in a tailored suit, his hair slicked back, his beard freshly trimmed.
I wanted to hate this man though I had this unmistakable gut feeling that Mitch wasn’t evil. He didn’t strike me as one of those rare Navy SEALs who joined for the sole reason that he could become a legalized serial killer. Had he always been the cocky jerk I’d known over the years? Maybe his bravado was just an act that he adopted to get through BUD/S, a shell to make him better able to perform on the job without allowing himself to feel the immense pain, physical and emotional, that being a SEAL required.
Right now, he smelled incredible; like those chocolate after-dinner mints that I loved sucking on. “You’re so beautiful.” His hand brushed a lock of my hair out of my face. “Relax, I’ll take care of you.”
I squeezed his hand and he placed his arm around my shoulder. For once, he wasn’t abrasive; he seemed almost comforting, warm, and dare I say, like a gentleman. I allowed myself to see him with fresh eyes, tonight only. Find out why his wife had fallen in love with him.
Mitch led me down the red-carpeted hallway. I felt as if I was at a movie premiere rather than a strip club. But this place was unlike any strip club I’d visited in preparation for going undercover. I thought San Francisco had some classy joints—this place looked like a restaurant. There was no public stage for women to dance on while men gawked at them. Girls, who could’ve been mistaken as models, milled around the men, who were seated in private booths or at the bar. Male waiters carried plates of expensive-looking food and bottles of vintage wine. Definitely a step up from Panthers.
Mitch pulled me into a private booth. “Wait here, I’ll be right back.”
My lips spread into a forced smile as he turned to walk away. I scanned the club, eyeing the girls. There was a redhead in the corner who I recognized as Emma, another stripper who had worked at Panthers but had vanished. Last winter, she had given me the first clue to this case—that Grant had invited the strippers to the party. A clue that broke my heart. If I’d only known then that her words would lead me to this new life.
Across the room, I saw a blonde with a crisp bob who had to be Autumn. She didn’t see me yet but I would make sure to connect with her.
Yes, this was the place to be. Had Grant ever come here? Had Joaquín?
Mitch came back to my table accompanied by a short, stocky guy, late thirties, sporting a full beard. Looked like he could be a former SEAL, but I didn’t recognize him.
“Ksenya, this is Jack. He owns the club.”
“Nice to meet together with you, Jack.” I held up my hand and he kissed it.
“Pleasure is mine. Mitch wasn’t lying. You’re a knockout—you look like a young Pamela Anderson. Tell me, doll, why do you want to work here?”
I used my best breathy sex kitten voice, hinged with my fake accent. “I love men. I love to make them happy.”
Jack and Mitch lapped my words. God, men were so easy.
Jack stared at my chest, and I arched my back to give him a better view. “Well, babydoll, you can make me happy anytime. Maybe, I’ll adopt you as my personal pet. Let me show you around and introduce you to the girls. You can audition on Monday.”
Audition? What was tonight—just a meet-and-greet? And what the fuck did he mean about being his pet? I’d drawn my lines into the sand early—no sex with anyone except Grant and I’d even managed to resist him so far. I deserved a medal for that feat. Once I’d crossed that boundary with a man other than Grant, I would never be able to respect myself again. But this new opportunity was good, I still had a chance here. A breakthrough in the case felt so close—I was in this swanky club where at least two of the strippers who knew Tiffany worked and may be able to provide me with much-needed clues.
Mitch squeezed my arm. “You owe me a dance. I’ll be here on Monday.”
“Thank you, Mitch. I will save the dance for you.” Mitch settled into the booth as Jack led me away.
Jack lowered his hand to my waist, his fingers tapping on my ass. “We have some rules. I’m telling you now so you can decide if you want to still work here. Number one—no boyfriends. If you have one, he better not step foot in here. Your job is to entertain our clients, make small talk, dance, laugh at their jokes. We don’t want any trouble at all.”
I swallowed. Grant. I had to tell him about this job. Otherwise he would find out for sure. I didn’t trust Mitch to keep my secret.
Or maybe . . . I could wait a bit. Tell him I was taking an English class, stall until I got the information I needed and then quit before he ever found out. I had to keep Grant close as an informant, a spy in the house of SEALs. I’d royally piss him off when he found out I asked Mitch to help me get a job. Mitch was still on my radar, though at the moment, I felt deep down like he was just a jackass, not a murderer. But I couldn’t be certain.
Jack took me into the dancers’ lounge room in the back of the club. Instead of secondhand lumpy couches at Panthers, this club was filled with velvet chaises, lighted mirrors, and walls adorned with art. But I didn’t care about the ambiance. I scanned the room of girls. Autumn was applying lipstick, and Emma chatting on her cell phone.
Remember, Mia, you don’t know Emma.
I didn’t approach either one yet. I was sitting in the room with two women who were at the party the night Tiffany was killed. Two women who knew her. Two women who knew the men of SEAL Team Seven. And unlike the SEALs, these women loved to talk.
Jack didn’t even bother to introduce me to anyone. He just gave me a pat on my bottom and left to go back to the main club.
Autumn now glanced my way. “Ksenya! I didn’t know you were coming by. You didn’t text me or nothing.” She squealed like a schoolgirl and wrapped me in a big hug. “Are you going to work here? I told you this place was way classy. Let me introduce you to everyone.”
Score! I had to control my feet from dancing.
Autumn linked her hand around mine and took me over to Emma.
“Emma, this is that Russian girl I told you about.”
“Nice to meet with you, Emma. My name it is Ksenya. I am actually from the Ukraine.”
Emma just gave me a distracted wave and went back to chatting on her phone. When I’d met Emma in the parking lot of Panthers, she’d been so kind and welcoming to me—this time, not so much. Now I was a threat, competition to her job, rather than some pathetic girl, sobbing over her wayward ex-boyfriend and despondent over the loss of her brother.
Autumn continued to show me around. I didn’t get this girl; she was so sweet to me, and I didn’t feel like it was an act. She was young, not jaded, and perhaps really wanted a friend. She seemed lonely, and I couldn’t help but wonder how much longer she would be so bubbly before the realities of life as a stripper broke her spirit.
She took me aside and led me into the bathroom. “Uhm, can I ask you something?”
I nod
ded my head.
She bit her fingernails, the crimson polish chipping at the ends. “Are you still seeing Grant? I mean that’s cool if you are and everything, I’m just curious and all.”
I swallowed. I was standing next to a girl who had been with my man on the night Tiffany was murdered, on the night that ruined my brother’s life.
“Yes, I am. But he do not know that I am here.”
She blinked rapidly. “That’s cool.” She paused and her shoulders slumped. “Hey, what are you doing tomorrow? I wanted to head out to Temecula to visit Tiffy’s family.”
Tiffany’s family—people who no doubted wanted to crucify my brother. But no way in hell would I squander the opportunity to meet them.
Autumn rattled on. “The girls won’t go with me. They are all weirded-out by it, like they can’t deal with her death. I mean everyone’s just forgotten about her. It could’ve been me, you know? So… I just wanted to do something nice for her family. I know I don’t know you, and you don’t know me, but I just really don’t want to go alone. And you seem nice and all.”
God, I wanted to hug this girl. She was the first to tell me exactly where Grant was that night, eliminating him as a suspect, first to tell me about Diamond, and now she was going to bring me to meet Tiffany’s family? She was too good to be true.
“I’d love to go together with you. You have it, my number, yes?”
“Oh, thank you. Have you been to Temecula? It’s beautiful and all too! Like they have wineries and all the super-hot motorcross guys live up there.”
Autumn rattled on about some wine-tasting event but all I could focus on was that tomorrow I’d be meeting the family of the girl who my brother was accused of murdering.
***
AUTUMN PICKED ME UP IN the morning to drive to Temecula—a small town an hour north of San Diego. My hands trembled as she handed over the coffee she had picked up for me at Starbucks.
Tiffany. After all this time, I would get a glimpse into the life of the woman my brother was accused of murdering.
Autumn’s car sped north on the freeway. “Thanks for coming with. Most of the other Russian girls I’ve met were like super stuck up, but you’re not. I feel like I know you.”
“You are very welcome. I’m from the Ukraine, not Russia.”
She tapped her fingernails on the steering wheel. “Right, I know. Eastern Europe I mean. So why did you start dancing?”
God, this girl needed a friend. She oozed loneliness. And I hated that she called stripping dancing. I cringed at the comparison. Dancing was an art form, like acting. Stripping was nothing more than a way for men to get off and perpetuate an unhealthy perception of women. “I live with my grandmother. She died, and I pay the bills. My English, it is not so good. I am ballroom dancer. Now, I dance for men. Why are you dancer for men?”
She let out a sigh. “Wow. Your story is way cooler than mine. I was a fuckup in high school, dropped out. I started dating this guy Jeff—real jerk, loser, used to hit me.” She looked away from me, the color draining from her face.
Poor girl. I used to always lecture Grant that most strippers were abuse survivors. Or plain bat shit crazy—I clearly fell into the latter category. Some mornings I woke up completely shocked that I’d actually gone through with this crazy plan.
“Anyway, he told me I could make good money at Panthers so I tried it out. Him and me broke up and all. One day, I want to go to beauty school. But for now, I like dancing. I mean I meet super interesting people. Like you . . . and Grant. You know he’s a SEAL right?”
Yup. Painfully aware. I was the girl who gave him massages, prepared Epsom salt baths for him, and bandaged his feet every night for six months during BUD/S. “He told to me.” I paused, an ache growing in my throat. This girl was clearly still hung up on Grant, and here I was mind-fucking him, no hope of being serious again because I was lying about whom I was. Using him for information. But I didn’t have a choice anymore—I was in too deep. I needed him now.
“Don’t worry. I’m not like in love with him or anything,” she said playfully like she could read my mind. “I just think he’s super hot, and it’s so cool that he’s a SEAL. I’d love to be with a guy who could protect me, you know? Maybe you can hook me up with one of his friends?”
“Sure. I invite you to next party.” I really liked her. I had learned since I started this experiment that I needed to be less judgmental. Autumn was a sweet girl. She deserved love.
We exited the freeway and took the back roads. The view of the mountains and the vineyards calmed my nerves. For this ride, I felt connected to life. Even Autumn’s chatter didn’t seem to disturb my peace. I was happy to live in this moment, no thought of my past or future.
We pulled up to a small tract house just outside of Temecula, in Winchester. The neighborhood sported matching homes, uniform lawns, and wide sidewalks. Just a few years ago, this town had been wrecked with foreclosures. It was nice to see that it was beginning to recover.
An older woman, silver hair streaked with black, a saddened glaze in her eyes, opened the door, a small boy clutching her leg. But when the toddler’s face came into focus, I gasped.
His eyes—deep hazel eyes with mile-long lashes. Eyes that were so familiar . . . that I was certain I’d looked into them my whole life.
The heat in my body rose. No. It couldn’t be. A horrible thought flashed through my head, like this boy was a ghost or a zombie.
Fuck, Mia, you’re losing it.
I took a deep breath and said a prayer, trying to calm myself down. Who was this little boy? Was he Tiffany’s son? There was no mention of a child in her obituary. This boy was around two years old—Joaquín would’ve been about to leave on deployment. And my brother had told me he’d never met Tiffany before that night.
Had he been lying to me?
His eyes looked exactly like my dad’s—almond shaped, long lashes, a slight slant on the left eyelid.
My mouth became dry. This couldn’t just be some random coincidence.
The boy walked forward, his gaze focused on me. Autumn and Tiffany’s mother embraced.
I steadied my nerves, crouched down near the boy. “What is your name?”
The little boy didn’t speak. He reached his hand out to me, pointing at my purse.
His grandmother grabbed him by his hand. “Julián, don’t be so rude.”
She turned to me, and I rose from my position. “Sorry about that. Come inside. Would you girls like some iced tea?”
Iced tea? Tequila sounded better.
We walked in and sat on the sofa. The house was clean for having such a young boy. Pictures of Tiffany and Julián were everywhere—yet there wasn’t a single picture of any guy with them. She had to be his mom. Had she hid this kid from the police? That was impossible. If Autumn knew about the mother, then the police would also. Why was he not mentioned in a single police report, or news article? I studied one of Tiffany’s pictures, so unlike the stripper headshot the media had been running in the papers. In this one, her hair was a natural light brown, her green eyes weren’t sad, and she wasn’t wearing any makeup. She looked fresh-faced, almost innocent. No painted-on eyebrows, self-tanner, or jet-black hair. What happened to her? What was her story?
The grandmother handed us two glasses of iced tea. “So did you know my daughter?”
“No, I did not. But Autumn has told to me about her.” My mind was racing, trying to find a way to confirm that Tiffany was Julián’s mother.
“She was a troubled girl. She was definitely mixed up in some heavy shit—but the best thing she ever did was let me raise Julián when he was born. And I thank God every day she stayed clean while she was pregnant. Well the truth is, I didn’t even know she was pregnant! Her own mother? Imagine that! She had vanished for a year and shown up with this baby one day asking me to take care of him. She did her best to visit when she could, but she made sure to keep Julián sheltered from her life down in San Diego.”
My hands starte
d shaking and I choked back tears.
It couldn’t be, Mia. No way. Stop. This boy is not your son.
Fuck. I needed to get away from here. I was having a psychotic break.
Focus Mia, back to the case. Tiffany had been an addict? I’d always suspected that but had no proof, just a gut feeling. Drugs. This murder had to be linked to drugs. The pieces of the puzzle were falling into place. But I had to know who Julián’s father was. Maybe I was just losing my mind, but I’d bet Joaquín’s life that this boy was my nephew. Had my brother kept a secret from me? The same secret I kept from him? That would be too coincidental. I needed to be rational.
I decided to make an emotional plea. “My parents, they are dead. It must be so sad to you and to her boy. Is his father still in picture?”
I waited on her words. “No. Tiffany wouldn’t even tell me who he was, but I have my suspicions. I’m pretty sure he was her high school boyfriend, real loser, definitely not good enough for my Tiffy or Julián. I figure if Tiffy didn’t want the dad to know, then it isn’t my place to go against her wishes, you know?”
I nodded my head but was saddened by her flawed thinking. The father had the right to know about his child unless that knowledge would put the child’s life in danger. Just like I had the right to know if this little boy was my nephew. But then again, I more than anyone understood Tiffany’s rationale. But my situation had been complicated. And I handled it the only way I knew how.
Autumn tapped her fingernails on the coffee table. “Any updates on the case?”
“No. That rat-bastard should fry. They should use a firing squad on his ass and save the taxpayers’ money.”
My stomach ached. This woman seemed utterly convinced that Joaquín killed her daughter, not that I blamed her.
The grandmother spent the next hour reveling in Autumn’s every story about Tiffany. I could completely relate to Tiffany’s mom—now that I had no family left, I clung to every memory I could involving my parents and Joaquín.
After our visit came to a close, we started saying our goodbyes. Autumn promised to come by again, and try to bring Tiffany’s other friends. But I knew that was a long shot because the other girls seemed to have already washed their hands of the situation. Tiffany had been forgotten.
Chronic (Se7en Deadly SEALs Book 2) Page 4
