Alpha Bravo SEAL

by Carol Ericson

  “Works for me.”

  He walked the chair back from the desk. “Do you want to shut down your computer?”

  “That’s okay. It’ll go to sleep and log me out in about ten minutes. Let me put on my shoes, and I’ll be ready.”

  He followed her from the office and flicked off the light on their way out. She’d already brought a pair of shoes and a jacket downstairs and she slid her feet into a pair of animal-print high heels that put her almost at his height, with no self-consciousness at all.

  Nicole reminded him a lot of the young, wealthy women who populated his parents’ circles in California—confident, self-assured and accustomed to their privilege—the type of woman he usually steered clear of.

  But none of the rich girls he knew would step one foot in Somalia, or any other part of Africa, or Central America, or any of the other places Nicole had been to tell a story.

  She slipped into the slim black blazer that skimmed the top of her hips and ducked beneath the strap of a small black purse that hung across her body.

  “All set.”

  Leo was off duty, so the doorman with the second shift called a taxi for them, and Slade gave him the name of his hotel. When they got out of the taxi and made their way through the revolving door, Nicole turned to him.

  “I’ll just wait for you down here at the bar. Take your time.”

  “I won’t be long.” He strode toward the bank of elevators with disappointment stabbing his gut. Had he seemed too anxious to get her alone in his hotel room? He punched the button to call the car.

  She had the right idea. They’d just met this morning—hardly enough time to be showering and changing in each other’s presence. At her mother’s place, a massive staircase and several rooms had been between them when Nicole had changed. He hadn’t even heard the shower. Yeah, way too intimate too quickly.

  Even though he had saved her life.

  He raced through the shower and mimicked her outfit with dark jeans, a black T-shirt and black motorcycle boots. He grabbed a black leather jacket on his way out of the room.

  When he spotted her in the lobby bar, she was chatting with the bartender over a glass of red wine. She had one of those personalities that got people talking—necessary in her line of work, completely unnecessary in his.

  He started forward, navigating through the small tables, already beginning to fill up for happy hour. He perched on the stool next to hers and tapped her wineglass. “Do you want to finish that before we find dinner?”

  “I could if you’ll join me.” She drew her brows over her nose in a V. “That is if you can join me. Are you on duty or something?”

  “I’m not a cop.” He nodded to the bartender, who rushed over. “I’ll have what she’s having.”

  She swirled the ruby liquid in her glass. “It’s just the house merlot.”

  “Sounds good to me.”

  As she held her glass to her lips, she studied him over the rim. “What is your function? I’ve never heard of the US military operating stateside.”

  “Some do on occasion, but this is a special assignment. Off the radar, off the books.”

  “So, if one of the other snipers had shot the pirate who was holding me, would he be here instead of you? Is that how the Navy made the determination?”

  “I’m not exactly sure. They called. I responded.” The bartender had placed his glass of wine in front of him, and he clinked it against hers. “That’s how the military works.”

  They finished their wine over casual chatter and then walked a few blocks to a small bistro, where Nicole had a second glass of red.

  At the end of dinner, she pinged her fingernail against her empty glass. “I hope I’m not going to be required to hop on a bike and chase someone down this time. I’m ready for a nap.”

  “Uh-oh. How are you ever going to stay awake for the play?”

  “Wake me up when it’s over.”

  They took another taxi to the gallery on West Twenty-Fourth Street, and Slade discovered this was Nicole’s preferred method of transportation around the city. Her mother kept a car service on call, but Nicole had confided that she didn’t like the ostentatiousness of it all, even though she seemed comfortable with most of the perks her father’s wealth provided. He supposed she had to draw the line somewhere.

  Fifteen minutes later, they sauntered into the gallery, a small space crammed with sculptures. Nicole saw Andre immediately and elbowed Slade in the ribs.

  They feigned interest in some god-awful piece while Andre talked to a couple. When he was done, they wandered toward him until Nicole planted herself in front of him.

  “Andre Vincent, right?”

  “That’s right.” His smile dimmed a fraction as he looked into Nicole’s eyes. “You’re Lars’s friend. The one he went to Somalia with to make that film.”

  “Did you hear about Lars?”

  “I did, yeah. Shocking news.”

  “Did you see Lars when he was in the city?”

  “I missed him, and now I’m sorry I did.” His gaze shifted to Slade.

  “This is my friend Slade.”

  They shook hands, and as far as Slade could tell, Andre wasn’t lying about not seeing Lars. At least, he hadn’t taken off in a sprint like Dave had.

  Andre stroked his beard. “Was there something you wanted to ask me about Lars?”

  “He left a note for me when he was in New York and gave it to someone to mail to me later.” Nicole lifted her shoulders. “I was just trying to figure out who that was.”

  “You checked with Dave Pullman or that actress, Trudy? I don’t remember her last name, but I think they saw him when he was in town.”

  “We checked with Dave, and we’re on our way to see Trudy Waxman.”

  Andre snapped his fingers. “Waxman, that’s it. Yeah, I’m sorry. That’s crazy Lars would do that. No clue he was even depressed.”

  “Tell me about it.” Nicole smudged a tear from the corner of her eye. “Thanks, Andre, and good luck with your show.”

  When Andre turned to greet a browser, Slade tapped Nicole’s arm. “It’s 7:40. Can we walk to the theater?”

  “It’s a little over a mile. If I weren’t wearing these shoes, I’d say let’s go for it.”

  “Taxi, it is.”

  Nicole gave a quick wave to Andre as they exited the gallery and then turned to Slade. “You believed him, didn’t you? He seemed like he was telling the truth, but he could’ve been lying.”

  “That’s a possibility, but he didn’t seem nervous. If it doesn’t pan out with Trudy, then someone’s lying, or Lars has other friends you don’t know.”

  “I hope Trudy’s the one.” She stepped into the street and waved down a taxi as only a New Yorker could. A few blocks from their destination, she thrust some money into the front seat. “We’ll get out here.”

  They hustled along the sidewalk to the theater, housed in an old church, and Slade bought two tickets. As they took their seats, he brushed his lips against Nicole’s ear. “If it’s awful, we can always grab a cup of coffee and wait outside for her.”

  She winked, and the gesture seemed intimate—or he was reading way too much into her every expression.

  Thirty minutes later, they were still in their seats. The play wasn’t bad, and Trudy lit up the stage every time she appeared on it. Nicole laughed in all the right places, nudging his arm as she did so, and he tried not to get too excited about it.

  The sixty-minute running time didn’t warrant an intermission, so at the end of the show, Slade jumped to his feet to stretch his legs. The rest of the audience joined him in a standing ovation, and the actors came out for a curtain call.

  “Let’s see if we can catch her in the back.” Slade took Nicole’s arm, and they squeezed past the people in their row and
spilled onto the sidewalk with the others eager for some fresh air.

  His hand inched down to hers as he led her around the back of the church. The church door opened onto a small quad, shared with another structure across the way. The actors were crossing from the church to this other building, and Slade and Nicole joined the stream of people.

  Slade poked his head inside the room where the actors and their friends joked, jostled each other and passed around bottles of wine. He spotted Trudy sitting in a corner, taking off her makeup.

  Gripping Nicole’s shoulders, he turned her toward the actress. “She’s over there. Wanna give it a try in here or wait until she’s done?”

  “By the looks of this bunch, we might be waiting a long time. Let’s hit her up now.”

  Nicole squeezed past Slade into the room, and he followed as she wended her way through the crowd. She pulled up a chair next to Trudy and touched her shoulder. “Trudy?”

  Trudy finished swiping a cotton ball across one eye and then met Nicole’s gaze in the mirror. Trudy’s red-lipsticked mouth formed an O, and she swung around in her seat. “You’re Lars’s friend Nicole. Did you get the letter?”

  Nicole’s eyes flashed toward Slade’s face before turning back to Trudy. “I did. Thank you so much.”

  “How did you know it was me?” Trudy grabbed a glass of wine that someone handed to her and took a swig. “Lars wanted it to be anonymous.”

  “Process of elimination. I looked up Lars’s New York friends, and your name surfaced.”

  Trudy wiped a bead of sweat from her brow and took another gulp of wine. “I suppose Lars should’ve anticipated that. I mean, you are a journalist, right?”

  “In a sense.”

  “Do you want some wine?” Trudy fanned her face. “It’s so hot in here.”

  Slade stuffed his hands in the pockets of his leather jacket. Trudy must be overheated from her performance, because the cool breeze from the open door had him chilled.

  “No, thanks.” As she glanced over her shoulder, Nicole dipped her head closer to Trudy’s. “So, did Lars tell you where to hide the film, or did you hide it? Do you know where it is?”

  Trudy bit her bottom lip, still red from her heavy lipstick. “He really didn’t want me to tell you...or anyone. Something did happen to him, didn’t it? I’m sure you don’t believe he killed himself any more than I do.”

  “I don’t believe it. That’s why it’s important to get that film and turn it over to someone.” Nicole jerked her thumb at Slade. “This is the guy. The US government is now looking for Lars’s film.”

  Trudy’s eyes popped open as she stared at Slade. “You’re kidding. I thought Lars was just paranoid, but you know, I’d do anything for that guy.”

  Sniffing, Trudy took another hit from her wine and almost knocked the glass over when she set it down on the cluttered vanity.

  “Please, Trudy.” Slade crouched down next to her bouncing knees. Her nerves must’ve been getting to her. “I don’t think Lars knew the full importance of that film, only that someone was after it. We need to know where it is. We need to make sense of Lars’s death.”

  “I understand. I have a key. It’s...” Trudy trailed off with a jerky nod. She reached for her glass again with a trembling hand. “I feel...dizzy.”

  Maybe she should lay off the wine. Slade put a hand on her knee. “Tell us where the film is, Trudy.”

  With her breath now coming out in rapid puffs, Trudy put her hand to her throat. “I don’t... I don’t.”

  A spike of adrenaline rushed up Slade’s spine. “What is it? What’s wrong?”

  Traces of spittle at the corner of Trudy’s mouth marred her red lipstick. “I can’t...”

  Nicole dropped beside him as she tried to take Trudy’s hands, now flailing at her sides. “Slade, what’s wrong with her?”

  “I don’t know.”

  As Trudy gurgled, Nicole put her ear close to the agitated woman’s mouth. “Trudy? What’s wrong? What can we do?”

  Slade shouted, “Someone get some water.”

  As Nicole staggered to her feet, Trudy arched her back and slipped to the floor, foam bubbling out of her mouth. She jerked like a fish on a line.

  Nicole yelled. “Water! Someone bring some water. Trudy’s sick.”

  Slade hovered over the convulsing woman and loosened the neckline of her blouse. He kicked the chair out of the way as her writhing head came perilously close to the leg.

  Suddenly, her bucking body stilled and her eyes rolled to the back of her head. She’d slipped into unconsciousness.

  Taking Trudy’s limp wrist between his fingers, Slade pressed his ear against her chest.

  Nicole had her phone in one hand as she grabbed a bottle of water with the other from a terrified bystander. She held the water out to Slade. “Will this help?”

  Slade placed Trudy’s arm across her midsection. “Nothing’s going to help her now. She’s dead.”

  Chapter Five

  Nicole clutched her stomach and took a step back. Her head swiveled as she took in the room, people now pressing in on her to get a look at Trudy—dead on the floor.

  The responsible party had to be someone in this room. Someone who didn’t want Trudy telling them the location of the film. Someone who might have a clear shot at them now.

  “We have to get out of here.” She tugged at Slade’s arm.

  He pulled his sleeve over his hand and grabbed the stem of the wineglass, putting his nose to the rim. As he set it back down on the vanity, he called out, “Anyone call 911 yet?”

  “I did.” A woman still in her theatrical makeup held up her phone. “Is it the epilepsy?”

  “I called.” A man answered from the crush of people.

  “I’m a doctor.” A woman pushed through and dropped to Trudy’s inert form. “Is she conscious?”

  “I don’t think so.” Slade jimmied out of the circle that had formed around Trudy and nodded to Nicole.

  She got it. He wouldn’t want to be caught here. He might even be under strict orders to keep a low profile. She stumbled from the circle herself, crouching and weaving her way through the jam of people as a siren wailed beyond the church’s courtyard.

  When she reached the door, Slade grabbed her arm and strode toward the church. The adrenaline flooding her system kept her legs pumping as she matched him step for step.

  He steered her along the side of the church and out to the front, where the first emergency vehicle was pulling up to the curb. Hunching into his leather jacket, Slade veered to the right and away from the first responders.

  Her heels clicked on the cement as she kept up with him, her fingers hooked in the back pocket of his jeans. They walked this way for about two blocks, silently, until Slade took a detour into an ice cream shop.

  He pointed to a high table for two at the back of the shop, away from the window. “Let’s sit.”

  Her feet didn’t need a second invitation, and she perched on the edge of the chair, kicking off her shoes. “Trudy was murdered.”

  “Excuse me. Are you going to buy something?” The clerk behind the counter squinted and shoved his glasses up the bridge of his nose. “There’s no table service.”

  “Hold that thought.” Slade rapped his knuckles on the table in front of her, and he approached the counter. “Raspberry gelato, double scoop, two spoons.”

  He waited at the counter, back stiff, clutching some money in his fist, while the clerk scooped up the gelato. Slade exchanged the money for the dessert and stuffed the change in his front pocket.

  When he returned to the table, he shoved the little cup of purplish-pink gelato in her direction.

  She glanced down at it and saw the color of Trudy’s cheeks instead. “How did they get to her?”

  “It could’v
e been the wine.” He jabbed one of the spoons into the mound of gelato.

  “I saw you smelling the glass. Did you notice anything?”

  “Smelled like wine to me, but whatever she drank could’ve been colorless and odorless.”

  She put a hand over her mouth. “If it was the wine, then it was someone there, in the room. It had to be.”

  “Since nobody else dropped dead, I’m assuming someone targeted her glass—and saw us talking to her.”

  “Why would the people after the film want to kill her? They could’ve questioned her. No matter how loyal she was to Lars, Trudy would’ve given up the film to save her life.”

  He rubbed his knuckles against the sandy-blond scruff on his chin. “Next best thing to finding the film would be that it stays hidden and nobody else finds it. If someone happens to stumble across it, he or she wouldn’t understand the significance of it. Hell, we might not understand the significance of it.”

  “That’s if it stays hidden.” She hunched across the small table, her nose almost touching his. “Trudy mentioned a key. Remember? She said she had a key.”

  Slade reached into the inside pocket of his jacket and withdrew a key chain, dangling it from his index finger.

  Nicole’s jaw dropped. “Is it hers? How did you get that?”

  “In the confusion, when all eyes were on the doctor and I was sniffing the wineglass, I noticed Trudy’s purse. I figured if she had any keys, they’d be in her bag, so I reached inside and snagged them.”

  Curling her fingers around the set of keys, Nicole asked, “Do you think the key she mentioned is one of these?”

  “That’s what I was hoping, but we have no idea what type of key Trudy was talking about. It could be a key to a safe-deposit box or a safe in her apartment, or a key to something we may never locate.” Slade scraped a plastic spoon across the little mountain of gelato and shoved it in his mouth.

  She dropped the key chain, which was the letter T, on the table with a clatter and spread out the five keys. She nudged the first one. “This looks like an apartment key, right?”