Crazed (Se7en Deadly SEALs Book 3)

by Alana Albertson

  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.

  Today 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.”

  I arrived at the address Autumn had given me. The neighborhood contained a bunch of tract homes, uniform manicured lawns, and proud American flags. Julián’s house seemed less vibrant than the rest on the street: the paint was chipped and faded, the grass was patchy, and there was a crack in the sidewalk. There was no vehicle in the driveway, and the lights were out in the house, so I assumed no one was at home.

  The sun was still bright, and I didn’t want to be conspicuous, so I drove slowly around the neighborhood, grabbed a real estate flyer, and took Hero down to a local park that had a view of the house. And waited.

  After a few hours of playing with Hero, running through one of those stupid park exercise obstacle courses, and screwing around on my phone, I finally saw a car pull into the driveway.

  I walked Hero up the street, pacing myself, praying I would get there in time to see Julián before his grandma hustled him into the house.

  The lady was holding a few plastic grocery bags and attempting to get the young boy out of his car seat.

  I commanded Hero to sit, and approached her. “Can I help you with those, ma’am?”

  She turned and looked at me, her skin wrinkled, her brow furrowed. “I’m fine, thank you.”

  I wasn’t going to give up that easily. “It’s no problem really. I’m Grant, my fiancée and I are looking to purchase a home in this neighborhood. Do you like living here?”

  She let out a huff, and shoved a plastic bag in my hand. “Yeah, it’s a nice community. Very safe, perfect for raising my grandson.”

  I grabbed the rest of her bags, and she wriggled Julián out of the car. My eyes fell on this little boy, cutest kid I’d ever seen. Thick, dark hair, almond-shaped hazel eyes, tanned skin.

  He looked like a perfect blend of Mia and me.

  My hands shook, and my heart pounded. I wanted to rip him out of her hands and take him away from her. But I had no proof, only a haunting suspicion. Kidnapping a kid, even if he could potentially be mine, was definitely out of the question.

  I took the bags to her doorstop. She fumbled behind me, clutching Julián’s hand. The little boy looked up at me, blinking rapidly, and all I could focus on was his long eyelashes, Mia’s eyelashes.

  Did Joaquín know? Is this why he killed Tiffany? Had she kidnapped my child? What the fuck was going on?

  The lady didn’t open the front door. She probably thought I was some rapist. I was glad she was safety conscious, considering she could be raising my child.

  “Well, thanks for helping. I think there is one for sale down the street. And now that you mention it, I may put our home on the market. I’m thinking of moving out of the state. I have no family here anymore and it’s too expensive.”

  No! Fuck. That adrenaline rush flooded through my blood, like I was on a time-sensitive mission with my Team. I had to act fast, or the opportunity to see if Julián was mine—and if he was, to gain custody—would vanish.

  I scanned Julián, taking a mental picture of his face. I focused on the cleft in his chin, and touched my own.

  “Doggie?” Julián pointed at Hero.

  “Yes.” I knelt down to the boy. “He’s friendly, you can pet him.”

  The lady eyed me suspiciously, but motioned that it was okay. Julian slowly tapped the top of Hero’s head, as if he were dribbling a basketball.

  Julián dropped his apple juice box on the ground.

  “Julián. Pick that up and throw it in the trash.”

  I swooped in and retrieved in from the ground. “It’s okay, ma’am. I’m leaving now. I’ll just take it with me. It was nice to meet you.”

  I turned away, a lump in my throat. I clutched onto that juice box like it was incredibly sensitive and urgent intel, which it was. When I returned to my truck, I placed the box in a plastic bag I had in my car. Luckily, the straw was chewed, which would increase my chances of finding DNA. I picked up my phone and called a friend of mine in forensics. He agreed to meet me, and I raced out of the town. Leaving Julián behind.

  The barrel of a gun pressed against my back, its cold steel marking my flesh. Fuck, why didn’t I listen to my instincts? If my training had taught me anything, it was to trust my gut. I was cracking under pressure.

  The man from the bar clasped his hands around my wrists as his breath blew hot on my face. He grabbed my purse from the floor and pulled me out of the car. I’d scream, but no one would hear me. Had anyone seen the accident?

  We climbed up the hill and he shoved me into his car. With the mask of night, I was unsure if there had been any witnesses. The traffic was constant but not thick, and not one other car stopped to see if I was okay.

  My luck had officially run out.

  Every muscle in my body throbbed. “I do not know why it is you are taking me. I am just girl from Ukraine. You must have it, the wrong girl.”

  His only response was a deep laugh.

  Despite the blinding pain in my head, I formulated a plan. I could attempt an escape when he pulled off the freeway, risking my life. But since my goal was to exonerate Joaquín, it made more sense to see this through, see where he took me, find out who he was, and learn what he wanted.

  If he’d followed me from the parking lot then maybe Kyle or another SEAL saw him. Dammit. If only Grant hadn’t freaked out the other night, he surely would’ve picked me up at the Pickled Frog and I’d be safe with him. Or I could’ve lowered myself and called Mitch. But I was on my own.

  I memorized the details of the car. I was in a late-model Cadillac, blue with black interior. It blended in perfectly, like it could’ve been a rental car. The leather was pungent with smoke and sweat.

  Thirty minutes passed before he exited off the freeway. We were in El Cajon. Was he taking me to my place? Did he know where I lived?

  I breathed a sigh of relief when I
saw that we were heading toward Mount Helix. Years ago, I’d discovered that this place was a calming retreat where I could meditate. The wooded setting reminded me of my hometown in Marin.

  We parked on a dirt road near a street of older homes. The man pushed me out of the car, his hand on my neck. “Don’t try anything funny or you’ll be sorry.” Well, that wasn’t reassuring, considering he had a gun and no one in the world knew where I was. After a tightly guided walk, we ended up near a barren dirt path with some unsettled earth in a pile. Great, maybe they had already dug my grave.

  The dark sky assured me that I was out of view of anyone.

  I had nothing. Not my purse, not my phone. All left in his car.

  A car pulled up and another man exited. I recognized him immediately from pictures on his website. Daniel Reed, Joaquín’s lawyer.

  He was tall, blond, slightly balding, and fairly muscular for being in his late forties.

  “Mia Cruz. I’m sorry to bring you out here like this, but I couldn’t risk any of the Team guys finding out your true identity.”

  Hearing him call me by my real name rendered me speechless. A sense of failure washed over me, knowing now that this man had found out my secret, it was only a matter of time for everyone else to figure out my identity.

  “You look incredible. I have to admit I thought Joaquín had lost it the other day when he swore you’d visited him. I even looked at the security footage from the jail, convinced there was no way that Ksenya could be you. But I did some digging, and here you are. Congratulations on outsmarting a bunch of SEALs.”

  Despite the warm summer breeze, the hair on my arms stood on end. If Daniel thought by flattering me I would trust him, he was dead wrong. Though his excuse for bringing me out here made sense, my gut told me this guy was dangerous.

  This was my own fault. I was the dumbass who’d showed my bracelet to Joaquín in the jail. A hasty, irrational decision. I’d wrongfully assumed he would keep his suspicions to himself, not go running his mouth to his lawyer. Apparently, Joaquín trusted Daniel.