Secured By The Seal
Carol Ericson
She needed a miracle.She got a Texas Ranger.Vivian Watts’s mission to prove her brother’s innocence has left her destitute and desperate. So when Slate Thompson arrives with his knock-me-out blue eyes and belief in her case, she dares to hope again…
Revenge is personal—especially for one navy SEAL
To find her sister, therapist Britt Jansen goes deep undercover at the core of a Russian mob. Navy SEAL sniper Alexei Ivanov is also infiltrating the club—but while Britt is driven by desperation to find family, Alexei’s motivation is stone-cold vengeance. Teaming up yields more than either of them expected—the horrific truth behind the club’s backroom business, and an attraction that could rip them apart.
CAROL ERICSON is a bestselling, award-winning author of more than forty books. She has an eerie fascination for true-crime stories, a love of film noir and a weakness for reality TV, all of which fuel her imagination to create her own tales of murder, mayhem and mystery. To find out more about Carol and her current projects, please visit her website at www.carolericson.com (http://www.carolericson.com), “where romance flirts with danger.”
Also available by Carol Ericson
Locked, Loaded and SEALed
Alpha Bravo SEAL
Bullseye: SEAL
Point Blank SEAL
Single Father Sheriff
Sudden Second Chance
Army Ranger Redemption
In the Arms of the Enemy
Under Fire
The Pregnancy Plot
Navy SEAL Spy
Secret Agent Santa
Visit millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk) for more information
Secured by the SEAL
Carol Ericson
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
ISBN: 978-1-474-07856-6
SECURED BY THE SEAL
© 2018 Carol Ericson
Published in Great Britain 2018
by Mills & Boon, an imprint of HarperCollinsPublishers 1 London Bridge Street, London, SE1 9GF
All rights reserved including the right of reproduction in whole or in part in any form. This edition is published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, locations and incidents are purely fictional and bear no relationship to any real life individuals, living or dead, or to any actual places, business establishments, locations, events or incidents. Any resemblance is entirely coincidental.
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Contents
Cover (#u6812acab-f320-5b39-afee-30a6a2acbf22)
Back Cover Text (#u26ab3ff4-f476-5d77-8ecc-3a89aa392a75)
Author Bio (#ub9272321-e11f-5a57-80da-770e944e3df1)
Booklist (#ubeaebec8-4633-54b7-a548-25ac78479f56)
Title Page (#uf09c4551-5e05-53be-b4ce-e51b49d3fd76)
Copyright (#u4582d117-6232-5de5-9113-b0dbd410f443)
Prologue (#u71fa2b23-2104-5805-af97-440c76da2ba5)
Chapter One (#u466ecf2c-67fe-5639-9565-2ca16496c150)
Chapter Two (#uf915b16f-f7d4-5bf1-bd33-66aa91dce35a)
Chapter Three (#uc24223a1-ec9b-5b27-8ef1-e89663ba6f02)
Chapter Four (#u0524ddea-0c8b-5e7e-aeed-90f5df9f9ef6)
Chapter Five (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Six (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Seven (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eight (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Nine (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Ten (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eleven (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twelve (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Thirteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Fourteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Fifteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Epilogue (#litres_trial_promo)
Extract (#litres_trial_promo)
Prologue (#u6f674270-d476-51fe-bb39-4375f4aba784)
The sun shimmered across the water of the Black Sea, but Alexei had his Dragunov pointed at the land, specifically a patch of emerald green lawn that rolled down to the beach. Alexei’s lip curled at the deadly irony of training his Russian-made sniper rifle on...Russians.
The boat bobbed, and Alexei widened his stance, speaking into the mic clipped to his T-shirt. “We’d better get a signal here soon before the wind kicks up any more.”
From another boat, his team leader’s voice crackled. “We’re waiting for one more member to show up—the most important one, an old-style gangster from the Vory v Zakone.”
A muscle in Alexei’s jaw jumped at the name of the gang that used to be the most feared and influential criminal organization in the old Soviet Union. New gangs had cropped up since the breakup of the Soviet Union, but the Vory would always be revered by the criminal world even as its relevance slipped away.
Slade, the team member sharing Alexei’s boat, hunched forward slightly. “Why do we have to wait for him? We’re not shooting any of the mob, right?”
“Nope.” Alexei licked the salt spray from his lips. “But he’s going to lead his terrorist friends into position on the lawn. I guess it’s his house. He’s their host.”
Slade whistled between his teeth. “Who said crime didn’t pay?”
“Not me.” Alexei swept his scope along the large, rambling summer mansion perched at the edge of the sea in the Bulgarian Riviera.
Their team leader issued a command. “Get focused. We have movement.”
Alexei tracked the new arrival through his scope. He focused and his heart slammed against the wall of his chest. A flood of adrenaline coursed through his body. He lined up the owner of the extravagant home in his crosshairs—the face older, puffier, but unmistakable.
He swore under his breath.
Slade shifted beside him. “You okay? You got your guy?”
Tracking his rifle from the old gangster to the Chechen terrorist walking toward the sea, Alexei said, “I do now.”
The countdown started. “Five, four, three, two...”
Alexei squeezed the trigger of his sniper rifle and dropped the target. His sniper teammates had hit the other terrorists at the same time, but, as Slade had pointed out earlier, the mobsters were off-limits. They’d set up the Chechens for the US military to take out.
Fighting terrorists sometimes led to strange bedfellows—despicable bedfellows.
Slade crouched on the deck of the boat and began to break down his rifle. He nudged Alexei, who was still hunched forward in his sniper posture. “You didn’t get a clean shot on your target?”
“He’s dead.” Alexei swung his rifle from the lifeless body of the Chechen in the sand and zeroed in on the old Vory v Zakone, now laughing and smacking the back of one of his fellow gangsters, celebrating their safety.
Alexei’s pulse ticked up a notch. His breath hitched in his throat. His trigger finger contracted a centimeter.
Slade hopped to his feet and jabbed Alexei’s back. “Let’s go, man.”
Releasing a breath, Alexei lowered the Dragunov and rolled his shoulders.
You escaped this time, Belkin, but next time I have you in my sights you’ll be a dead man.
Chapter One (#u6f674270-d476-51fe-bb39-4375f4aba784)
Three Years Later
“Britt, I thought you were coming out here for a visit. I’m...in a bit of trouble. Call me.”
Britt Jansen cut off Leanna’s voice-mail message and stuffed the cell phone into her purse. Dragging the back of her hand across her nose, she blinked the tears away. She flipped down the car’s visor and dabbed her pinkie finger at the edge of her heavily made-up eyes. She couldn’t afford to lose this job before she started.
The Tattle-Tale Club was her only link to her missing sister.
She slid from her car, an old compact she’d bought from a private party when she got to LA. Although she’d parked outside the Tattle-Tale’s lot, she didn’t want to be tooling around in a rental car. She’d gone through too much trouble setting up a fake identity.
In the alley behind the club, she stepped around a transient’s grocery basket to make her way to the back door beneath a red-and-black-striped awning. As she grabbed the handle of the metal door, the owner of the basket approached her.
“You got any spare change?”
“Sorry, no.” She held up one hand as she yanked open the door and slipped into the back hallway of the club.
Irina Markov, the manager, had shown her the ropes yesterday, and Britt plucked her fresh time card from the rack and inserted it in the clock, stamping her arrival time. As she placed the card back in her slot, Irina bustled down the hallway, her dyed blond hair floating around her face.
“Right on time. Go introduce yourself to the bartender, Jerome Carter. We open in thirty minutes. Once the show starts, it’ll get packed.” Irina patted Britt on the back and then disappeared inside the owner’s office—the owner, Sergei, who’d lied to the police about Leanna.
Britt squared her shoulders and blew out a breath. She could do this—she’d put herself through college working as a waitress. The harder part would be getting into Sergei’s office after hours, but she had a plan for that, too.
She strode up to the end of the bar and waved at the bartender setting up. “Hi, I’m Barbie Jones. This is my first night.”
Jerome wiped his hands on the towel tucked into the waistband of his jeans and leaned forward, hand outstretched. “Nice to meet you, Barbie. Jerome.”
“Good to meet you, too.” She grasped Jerome’s hand. “Do you need any help back there?”
He shoved a tray of small candles and cards printed with drink specials toward her. “If you could set up the cocktail tables with these, that’d be great.”
Britt hoisted the tray and started depositing candles and cards at the tables closest to the stage.
Leanna had mentioned a nice bartender in her infrequent phone calls, but Britt had no intention of revealing herself to anyone—nice or not—until she could get a handle on the situation. Anyone in this club could be complicit in Leanna’s disappearance.
The cops had just done a cursory survey of the employees and had come away satisfied with Sergei’s explanation that Leanna—or Lee, as she was known here—had quit to take off with a boyfriend. As flaky as Leanna was, there was no way she would’ve taken off like that without telling her big sister—and there was that voice-mail message.
As Britt moved to the second row of tables back from the stage, a woman approached her and tapped her on the shoulder.
“You really shouldn’t put those candles on the tables ringing the stage.” The woman, outfitted in the waitresses’ uniform of short black skirt and white blouse, scrunched up her nose, shaking her head.
“Why?”
“Because when the show starts, those guys in the front row might start a fire when they reach for the dancers.”
“Oh.” Britt squeezed to the front line of tables and grabbed one of the candles. “Jerome didn’t tell me that, but it makes sense.”
The woman shrugged. “What does Jerome know? He’s stuck behind the bar. I’m Jessie Mack, by the way.”
“Hi, Jessie. I’m Barbie Jones.”
Jessie narrowed her heavily lined eyes. “With a name like that, are you here to be a waitress or do you wanna be one of the dancers?”
“Oh, no, waitress only. Barbie’s my real name, and I can’t dance.”
Jessie snorted. “If that’s what you wanna call it.”
“Are you here to waitress or dance?”
“I’m a waitress...for now, but I’m trying to get on the stage.” She flicked her fingers at the stage. “You make more money shakin’ your stuff, and I’m all about the dollar bills.”
“Do you have to audition or something?” Britt transferred another candle from the front row to the second row of tables.
“Or something.” Jessie grabbed two candles and two drink cards from the tray and placed them on the tables behind her. “There’s a vacancy for sure. One of the dancers left recently, and I know Sergei wants to replace her.”
Britt’s heart took a tumble. Jessie couldn’t be talking about Leanna. Her sister had assured her she was waitressing, not stripping, but then, Leanna didn’t always tell the truth.
“Have you talked to Sergei about replacing her?”
“Have you met Sergei yet?”
“No. I interviewed with Irina.” She’d wanted to meet Sergei, but Irina told her he interviewed the dancers only and left the cocktail waitresses to her.
“Yeah, that explains why you think it’s so easy to talk to Sergei.” Jessie put her finger to her lips as more women entered the bar. “Just stay on his good side...or stay out of his way altogether.”
As the waitresses and the dancers flooded the bar, their chatter filled the air. Britt noted the heavy accents of some of the women and figured them for Russians since both Irina and Sergei were Russian, too.
When she found herself alone with Jessie again at the end of the bar minutes before opening, Britt asked, “Why do so many Russian women work here? Is it because of Sergei?”
“Sergei’s father. He owns the place, along with a few others in the Valley. He has a Russian restaurant with a banquet hall in Van Nuys, so sometimes we work out there for events.”
She touched Jessie’s arm. “What you said before about auditioning for Sergei. What does that entail?”
“You mean what do you have to do for the audition?” Jessie rolled her eyes. “Use your imagination. That’s why I haven’t applied yet. I’m trying to get my courage up.”
The bar opened for business, and Britt didn’t have time for any more conversation or snooping. The customers kept her hopping with drink orders.
She bellied up to the bar for another order, reading off a slip of paper on her tray where she’d scribbled the drinks. As Jerome hustled to fill her order, Britt turned and wedged her elbows against the bar, watching the topless women undulate under colored lights.
“You want chance on stage?”
Britt jerked her head to the side, almost colliding with a dark-haired man with glittering eyes and a smirk on his lips.
She tucked her hair behind one ear. “God, no. I’m perfectly happy being a waitress. I can’t even dance.”
The man’s eyes tracked down her body, and Britt craved a shower. “You have body of dancer. Maybe one day.”
A chill pressed against her spine as Britt realized the identity of the man. “You must be Sergei. I’m Barbie, the new girl.”
“Barbie, Barbie Doll.” He touched his fingers to his forehead. “Welcome to Tattle-Tale.”
He sauntered off toward the stage, his tight shirt clinging to his taut frame, and Britt sagged against the bar behind her, puffing out a short breath.
With a clenched jaw, Jerome placed the last bottle of beer on her tray. “First time meeting Sergei?”
“Yeah. He seems...okay.”
Jerome’s fingers tightened around the long neck of the beer bottle before releasing it. “Just don’t get on his bad side.”
“That’s the second time tonight someone has warned me about one of Sergei’s sides.” She lifted the tray. “I can handle Sergei.”
“That’s what they all say.” Jerome turned away without further explanation.
Britt couldn’t stay out of Sergei’s way if she hoped to discover why he’d lied about Leanna leaving her job and town with a boyfriend. Why would he say that? Unless that was what Leanna had told him.
She needed to get into Sergei’s office, the sooner the better. She’d already discovered he left before closing time, so she’d have to figure out a way to stay behind after everyone left.
As Britt launched into the crowd of thirsty customers, Jessie grabbed her arm. “When you’re done with those, can you hit a table in the front row at the end of the stage? Guy’s been sitting there alone for a while, and I haven’t had a chance to get to him.”
“Sure. Which side?”
“On the left, facing the stage.” Jessie jerked her thumb over her shoulder as she scurried to the bar.
Britt peered over her tray of drinks at a single man reclining in his chair—long legs stretched out in front of him, head tipped back, watching the woman on the pole. She mumbled under her breath, “Great—a weirdo by himself.”
She scurried among her tables, delivering drinks and picking up a few tips. On her way to the lone guy up front, Britt stopped at a few tables along the way, scribbling drink orders on her pad. When she reached his table, she flicked a cocktail napkin down. “What can I get you?”
The man turned his head and pinned her with a gaze from a pair of the bluest eyes she’d ever seen. “Two shots of vodka and a glass of water, please.”
“Hope you weren’t waiting too long. The waitress at this station is really busy tonight, and she asked me to take care of you.” Britt bit the inside of her cheek. She had no idea why she’d engaged this weirdo—maybe so she could stare into his eyes a minute or two longer.
He shrugged, his black leather jacket creaking with the movement. “I didn’t notice.”
Of course he didn’t notice. He’d been too preoccupied ogling the topless dancer, who was still trying to get a tip out of him.
Without breaking eye contact with Britt, he reached into his front pocket, withdrew a bill and tucked it into the dancer’s G-string.
Britt felt a hot flush creeping up her throat and spun around before a customer could wonder why a cocktail waitress at a topless revue would be embarrassed by a common method of tipping.
She hightailed it back to the bar and smacked her order on the top. “I’m up, Jerome.”
The antics of the dancers and the customers hadn’t bothered her at all. As a therapist, she’d heard all kinds of stories from her clients and had learned to keep a straight face through all of it.
There had just been something so personal about what that particular customer had done—as if he wanted Britt to witness him touching the dancer in that intimate way.
She pushed her hair back from her face and fanned it with a napkin. She’d imagined it. The guy’s appearance had just taken her by surprise, since she’d expected some dweeby loser to be going to topless bars by himself. That man still may be a dweeby loser, but he was one hot dweeb.
Jerome’s dark face broke into a smile. “It does heat up in here pretty fast, and I’m not just talking about the girls.”
“Busy place.”
He tapped the last order on her list. “Is this a specific vodka on this order?”
“I forgot to ask, and he didn’t say.” She’d been too mesmerized by his eyes.
“Okay, I’ll pour him the house brand. Ask next time, since Sergei stocks all the best vodkas. Even the house brand is decent.”
“Will do. Thanks, Jerome.” She picked up her tray and waded back into the mayhem. She delivered the drinks and then returned to her loner, still sprawled in his seat as if he hadn’t moved one muscle.
She dipped beside his table. “Sorry I didn’t ask you before, but is the house vodka okay?”
“It’s fine.” He shifted his body away from the stage, making a slight turn toward her. “How much?”
“Do you want to run a tab?”
“No.” His long fingers were already peeling bills from a wad of cash.
“That’s twelve dollars. The water’s free.” She giggled.
His lips, too lush for his lean face, quirked up at one corner, and he handed her a folded twenty. “Thanks.”
As she reached for his change, he held up a hand. “Keep it...for the added comedy.”
“Thanks.” She backed away from his table and then spun around, nearly colliding with Jessie.
“Whoa.” Jessie raised her tray of drinks above her shoulder.
“Sorry, just looking after your customer. He paid for his order already.”
“Thanks, sweetie. Although from the looks of him, I’m sure you didn’t mind waiting on him. I wouldn’t.” Jessie winked and squeezed past her.
Okay, so her reaction to the loner hadn’t been completely out of left field—and Jessie hadn’t even experienced his magnetism up close and personal.
She let Jessie handle him the rest of the night, although she tried to catch glimpses of him on her drink runs until he left. She had more important issues to deal with than men hitting up topless clubs on their own. The guy probably had a wife and three kids at home waiting for him.
After making two trips to the supply room, Britt figured out a plan for the evening. She could slip into the supply area instead of leaving for the night, wait for everyone else to take off and then search Sergei’s office.
She’d already shoved a wad of chewing gum into the lock on the doorjamb of Sergei’s office. Of course, if someone discovered that the door wouldn’t latch completely, she’d have to figure out another way to get into his office. The plan sounded easy in her head until closing time approached and she got an attack of butterflies.
All the waitresses had to participate in closing down the bar. Irina had left at midnight, leaving Jerome in charge, which soothed Britt’s nerves a little. If Jerome discovered her in the supply room, he might not even tell Sergei—it didn’t seem like Jerome had much loyalty to Sergei.
After wiping her last table, Britt saw her opportunity. She tossed her dishcloth into a basket of dirty ones behind the bar. “Anything else, Jerome?”
“You can leave. You had a great first night.”
“Thanks.” Britt waved to a couple of the waitresses gossiping near the stage and turned down the hallway to the back of the club. She clocked out and then shoved open the back door. Before it closed, she tiptoed past the dressing room, where a few of the women were still chatting, and backed into the supply room. She crouched behind a stack of boxes.
About fifteen minutes later, the door to the supply room opened, and Britt held her breath. She didn’t move one eyelash as the stacking and shuffling noises moved closer to her hiding place. It had to be Jerome finishing up, but even Jerome finding her hiding out would most likely end badly.
When the light went out and the door closed, Britt finally let out a long breath. She waited several more minutes until she heard that back door close for the last time.
Her muscles aching, Britt unfolded her body and peeked around the boxes. She crept forward and pressed her ear against the door. After the noise of the voices and the music, the silence pulsed against her eardrum.
Swallowing hard, she turned the door handle and stepped into the dark hallway. A few low lights from the bar area kept her from complete darkness, and she sidled along the wall to Sergei’s office.
Biting her lip, she gave the door a bump with her hip. It didn’t budge. She dug her feet into the carpeted floor and put a little more grit into it. The door popped open, and she grinned as she tapped the chewing gum wedged in the lock. The things you learned from clients, especially the juvenile delinquents mandated for therapy.
She took a step into the room, her fingers hovering over the light switch. She didn’t want to announce her presence, but she couldn’t see a thing.
She whipped out her phone and flicked on the light. Sergei’s desk beckoned, and she accepted the lure, creeping around the back as if she wasn’t the only inhabitant of the club. She tried the first drawer and gulped. She didn’t have any tricks to break into a locked desk, especially inconspicuously. If she forced anything, Sergei would know someone had been snooping.
Gathering her hair in one hand, she leaned over the desk and shuffled through a few papers—orders for supplies and bills. Sergei didn’t have a computer on his desk. He must take that home with him.
She put her hands on her hips and swiveled left and right, taking in the small office. Her gaze tripped over a filing cabinet, and she crouched in front of it, yanking on the handle. Locked.
What could be so private in a topless bar that everything had to be locked up like Fort Knox?
A sound from the back door had her blood running cold. Had Jerome forgotten something? A million stories started running through her brain in case he walked through that door. She wanted to change something in her employee file. She didn’t have a place to live yet and figured she could crash here.
Her ears picked up movement in the hallway, a whispering sound. She dived beneath Sergei’s desk, killing the light on her phone. Why had she left his office door ajar?
The floor beneath the carpet creaked, and Britt squeezed her eyes closed with the childish hope that if she didn’t see him, he wouldn’t see her.
The soft footsteps continued to the office, and she curled into herself, drawing her knees to her chest. Her stomach knotted and her lungs burned as she took tiny sips of air.
Her nostrils flared at the smell of leather and a faint odor of motor oil invading her space. Before her brain had time to fully process the smells, the chair she’d tried to pull back beneath the desk slowly eased away from her.
She wouldn’t be yanked from a cowering position under this desk like some kind of thief. She rolled from beneath the desk and jumped to her feet. She gasped as her gaze locked with a pair of blue eyes.
The loner from the club stood before her...and he had a gun.
Chapter Two (#u6f674270-d476-51fe-bb39-4375f4aba784)
Alexei clenched his jaw, stamping out the surprise from his face. He’d never expected that cute blonde American waitress to be hiding beneath Sergei’s desk.
She obviously didn’t have the same need to school the surprise from her face, and her big eyes got rounder and her jaw dropped.
He’d better be the one to gain control of this situation and go on the offensive. He tucked his weapon into the back of his waistband. “What are you doing in here?”
“I—I...” She ran a hand through her blond hair, and then she snapped her mouth closed and narrowed her eyes. “What are you doing here? At least I work here.”
He couldn’t bluff the previously giggly, apologetic waitress so easily, so he let his lashes fall half-mast over his eyes and growled, “How do you know I don’t work here?”
She flinched, and he felt a stab of guilt. He’d laid it on too thick.
“I was just... I don’t have a place to stay, and I thought I could crash at the bar for a few nights.”
The back door of the club scraped open, and Alexei lunged for the office door and pulled it closed.
The waitress hissed at him. “It’s not going to lock.”
He put his finger to his lips as he took a step forward. Placing both hands on the waitress’s shoulders, he pushed down, urging her back beneath the desk.
She scrambled for cover.
Alexei pulled out his weapon. Coiling his muscles, he flattened his body on the other side of the door and waited. If the door wouldn’t lock, he’d better be ready for whoever came through it.
A man’s footsteps thumped against the carpet and then scuffed on the wood floor in the bar area. The footsteps seemed to recede or had stopped altogether. Soft clinking noises carried down the hallway, and then a few minutes later the man’s boots clumped on the wood again and were muffled by the carpet as he walked toward the office.
Alexei watched the door handle, his hand wrapped around the barrel of his gun, ready to strike. The steps carried on. The back door opened and shut.
The woman beneath the desk sighed and whispered, “Is it safe to come out now?”
“For now, unless he comes back in.”
She crawled from beneath the desk and brushed off her short black skirt as Alexei averted his gaze from the smooth expanse of her thigh.
Wedging her hands on her hips, she said, “You don’t work here.”
“Maybe not, but Sergei’s not going to be happy when he finds out you were searching his office.”
“You can’t tell him that without revealing you broke into the club.” She jutted out her chin and crossed her arms, daring him.
“An anonymous phone call would do the trick. He’s a suspicious guy.”
She tossed her head, flicking a swath of hair over her shoulder. “I won’t tell on you if you don’t tell on me. I don’t care why you broke in here tonight, but I’m not going to be blamed if you decide to rob the place.”
“That’s where we differ.” He raised one eyebrow. “I do care why you’re here after hours, and don’t give me that story about needing a place to stay. You didn’t need to be in Sergei’s office for that.”
“I—I thought he might have a couch in here.”
Alexei held up his hand. “Save it. You do realize we’re both on camera, don’t you?”
“Where?” The waitress widened her eyes and cranked her head back and forth. “How?”
“I’m not sure where all the cameras are, but he has one in that corner.” He pointed to a camera perched on top of a tall bookshelf. “He probably has one at the back door, too.”
“Then we’re both in trouble if Sergei decides to review the footage.” She twisted her fingers in front of her. “I can’t lose this job.”
Alexei tilted his head, his gaze sweeping the woman from head to toe. Why did she care so much about a job as a cocktail waitress in a dumpy topless bar in Hollywood—or did she care about being in this club specifically? If so, he needed to find out why.
“I have no intention of either of us being caught.” Alexei pulled his phone from his pocket and accessed the club’s video files that his friend at the CIA had hacked for him. A few taps later, he accessed the night’s footage. He paused it as an African American man used a key to get through the back door.
“This is the guy who was just in here.” He held out the phone for the woman. “Do you recognize him?”
She nodded. “That’s Jerome Carter, one of the bartenders. How did you get—”
“Never mind.” Alexei tapped into a different camera and dragged his finger along the counter until Jerome appeared at the bar. “What do you think he’s doing?”
Leaning in, her hair tickling the back of his hand, the waitress squinted at the display. “He’s doing something behind the bar. The camera isn’t picking it up.”
“Do you think he’s stealing something?” He jabbed his finger at the screen of his phone. “Looks like he’s shoving something in his pocket, but that might be his phone.”
“If Jerome has keys to the bar...and Sergei’s office, I’m pretty sure he knows about the security cameras.” She circled her finger above his phone. “I’m also pretty sure he doesn’t have the ability to hack into the security footage. How—”
“You’re right. Maybe he just forgot something. Has Sergei had any problems with Jerome in the past?”
“You’re asking me?” Her voice squeaked as she drove a thumb into her chest. “This is my first night working here.”
Alexei’s pulse jumped. A cocktail waitress snooping around her boss’s office her first night on the job?
“Well, whatever Jerome was doing here, it’s his lucky night. Sergei’s not going to find out about it.” He selected each of the four camera views and deleted the footage.
“Isn’t Sergei going to be suspicious that he has no footage from tonight?”
“But he will.” Alexei made a few more selections on his phone. “Just none showing any activity in the club after hours.”
“Whew.” She hugged the small purse hanging across her body. “Then I guess I’m glad I ran into you tonight. Thanks.”
She made a move toward the door, and Alexei put his hand on her arm. “Not so fast. Since I saved your...behind, I want something from you in return.”
A pink flush crept into her cheeks as she glanced at his fingers curled around her upper arm.
He released his hold and cleared his throat. “I want to know what you were doing here tonight. You already know I’m not going to rat you out to Sergei...or the police.”
“Police?” She put a hand to her throat. “I wasn’t here to steal.”
“I believe you.”
“Why should I tell you anything?”
“Because I hold all the cards.”
She opened her mouth and then snapped it shut. A furrow formed between her eyebrows. “I’m not staying here another minute.”
“I agree. It’s Hollywood. There’s a twenty-four-hour diner halfway down the block. Let’s talk there.”
Taking a step back, she reached for the doorknob behind her. “I’m not going anywhere with you. You could be some crazed killer or something.”
“If I’d wanted to kill you, I would’ve done it already.” He touched the gun in his waistband. “What reason would I have to kill you? As far as I can tell, we’re on the same side.”
“Side?” Her gaze flicked to his weapon and back to his face. “There are sides?”
“If you’re worried, you drive over in your own car and I’ll meet you there. Do you know the restaurant I’m talking about?”
“Half a block down on this side of the street.” She dragged a keychain from her purse and dug some putty out of the lock on the doorjamb with a key.
He raised his eyebrows. “Is that how you got into the office?”
“Yep.” She squeezed past him into the hallway, and her light perfume lingered beneath the smells of the club that still clung to her clothes and hair.
She turned suddenly, bumping his shoulder as he locked Sergei’s office. “What would stop me from driving right home?”
“The fact that I can still call Sergei and tell him to keep an eye on his new waitress.” He watched her green eyes darken to chips of glass. “And your own curiosity.”
A pink flush washed into her cheeks. “You’re mistaken. I don’t care what you were doing here. I was just trying to find a quick place to bunk tonight.”
“Really? You just asked me what would stop you from driving home.” He touched the end of her pert nose with his finger. “If you’re going to be in the espionage business, you’re going to have to learn to lie better, moya solnishka.”
* * *
FIFTEEN MINUTES LATER, Alexei pushed through the glass door of Mel’s 24/7 Diner. The homeless guy in the corner nursing a cup of coffee didn’t even look up. The couple at the counter, who looked as if they’d stumbled in after a bender on the Sunset Strip, gave him a quick glance and went back to stuffing their faces.
Only the cocktail waitress looked up and eyed him as he approached her table. He’d need to get a name out of her before the end of the evening...and the truth. If she were actively working against Sergei, he liked her already. He also liked the way her green eyes glittered and changed color with every passing emotion. And that hair, like a mass of sunshine.
He slid into the vinyl booth across from her and extended his hand. “I’m Alexei Ivanov.”
Those eyes widened, and her mouth formed an O. “You’re Russian.”
“I’m American, born and bred. My parents are Russian.”
“Is that why you’re sneaking around the club?”
“Yes and no.”
“Are you KGB?” She put a hand over her mouth. “Is Sergei some kind of criminal?”
Alexei toyed with the edge of the plastic menu. She was figuring this out a lot faster than he wanted her to, and he still didn’t know why she’d been hiding in Sergei’s office.
He tapped the edge of the menu on the table. “The KGB doesn’t exist anymore.”
The coffee-shop waitress parked herself next to their table, raising her brows and the coffeepot. “What can I get you?”
Turning his coffee cup over, Alexei tipped his head across the table toward the other waitress.
“Umm.” She ran her finger down the breakfast side of the menu. “Two eggs, scrambled, bacon and wheat toast...and coffee, please.”
Alexei ordered some French toast, and when the waitress left, he hunched forward. “What’s your name, and what were you doing in the club after hours?”
She searched his face as if trying to read signs there. “My name’s Britt Jansen, but the club knows me as Barbie Jones.”
His pulse jumped. She’d lied to the club about her identity. Anyone who could put one over on Sergei had his respect.
“And?” He circled his finger in the air.
Once the waitress had poured the coffee and left, Britt dumped three packets of cream into her cup and watched the milky swirls create a pattern on the surface of her coffee. “I’m looking for someone.”
“At the club?”
“Yes—no.” She picked up her cup with a trembling hand and slurped a sip. “I’m looking for someone who worked at the club but doesn’t anymore.”
“That doesn’t make sense.”
“I’m looking for someone who—” Britt leaned forward and whispered “—disappeared.”
The one word, hissed at him in the nearly empty coffee shop by a woman clearly afraid, made the hair on the back of his neck stand up and quiver.
“You’re looking for someone who worked at the Tattle-Tale, and you think the club holds some key to her disappearance?”
“I do, only because Sergei told the police that my...the woman quit, left LA with a boyfriend.”
“Maybe she did. She’s an adult, and people do quit jobs and move, sometimes without telling their friends.”
Britt smacked the table, and his spoon jumped from the saucer. “She wasn’t just a friend. She was my sister, and there’s no way she would leave for parts unknown without telling me first. I tried to communicate that to the police, but they just shrugged their shoulders and said there was no foul play.”
Alexei picked up his spoon and drew invisible patterns on the Formica tabletop. He had no doubt women in Sergei’s employ vanished occasionally, but usually not American women with families who’d notice their absence.
“You called the LAPD when you couldn’t reach your sister?”
Britt nodded, and her green eyes shimmered with unshed tears.
“What did they tell you?”
“First they told me I had to wait because she was an adult. When they did a welfare check at her apartment, they told me that while she had left some personal items at her place, it looked like clothes were missing and her car was gone. Then they talked to Sergei, and he claimed she’d told him after work one night that she was finished, leaving town with a boyfriend, and the cops told me it was over. They had no reason to investigate further.”
“But you did. Is it just that she didn’t tell you she was leaving? Are you and your sister close?”
“We...” Britt dragged a hand through her hair. “We weren’t that close. We’d just gotten back in touch.”
“So she could’ve left without telling you.”
“French toast and eggs.” The waitress delivered their food with a clatter of plates.
Britt waited until the waitress ambled back to the couple at the counter. “She could’ve, but I don’t believe it. In the last voice mail she left me, she talked about being in trouble.”
“What did the cops make of that?”
She lifted her shoulders and poked at her eggs. “My sister had some financial issues—unpaid bills, delinquent rent. That’s what they interpreted as her trouble.”
Alexei spread his hands. “You have to admit, the police make sense on this one.”
“I know, and yet...”
“What?”
She patted a place right above her heart. “I know right here my sister needs me. I can feel it.”
Alexei let out a breath and sawed into his French toast. Britt’s sister was a flake who took off, leaving her sister to deal with her debts. Although Sergei was a dirtbag, he probably wasn’t involved in the disappearance of Britt’s sister—other things, but not this.
“What do you hope to discover skulking around Sergei’s office?”
“I’m not sure. Personnel files, my sister’s name somewhere.”
“It’s a dangerous game you’re playing. Sergei is not someone to cross.”
“I know. I sense that, too. I’m pretty good at reading people.” She slumped back against the seat and broke a piece off the end of her bacon. “So, you don’t believe he had anything to do with my sister or even that she’s missing.”
“I understand why you’re worried, but I can see why the police declined to investigate.”
“Now it’s your turn, Alexei Ivanov.”
“My turn?”
“Why did you break into the club, how did you erase that footage and how do you know Sergei?”
“I’m doing a sort of...investigation.” Now that he’d determined Britt didn’t have anything on Sergei, he regretted inviting her into his world.
“An investigation?” She crumbled more of her bacon between her fingertips, dropping it into her eggs. “Is that why you’re so quick to side with the police? You’re a cop?”
“Something like that.” He had no intention now of telling Britt anything resembling the truth. She needed to get out of that club and go back to her life.
“After I gave you my life story, that’s rather vague on your part.”
“Just trying to protect you.” He took one of her hands in his and felt her wild pulse beneath his thumb. “You should quit the job at the club and go home. Wait for your sister to call you. She’ll probably contact you the next time she’s in trouble or needs money.”
Britt jerked her hand away from his, her bottom lip trembling.
“I’m sorry. I’m a jerk.” That same guilt he’d felt before lanced his belly, and he wanted to press his thumb against her mouth to stop the quivering.
“You’re just telling it like it is, and you’re not wrong about Leanna.” Britt sniffed and dabbed her nose with a napkin. Then she dragged her purse into her lap and pawed at the contents inside. “There is something else. Can you read Russian?”
“Yes.”
“Maybe you can at least help me with this.” She waved a Tattle-Tale cocktail napkin at him. “I found it with my sister’s bills. I’m pretty sure she didn’t learn Russian while working at the club.”
He held out his hand, and she dropped the napkin. It fluttered and landed in his palm. He flattened the napkin on the table. “It’s written in Cyrillic.”
“Yeah, I have no clue.”
Alexei ran his finger beneath the symbols, and when he reached the end of the note, he curled his fist around the napkin, crushing it.
“What’s wrong? What does it say?”
“You were right, Britt. Your sister is in very big trouble...if she’s even alive.”
Chapter Three (#u6f674270-d476-51fe-bb39-4375f4aba784)
A chill raced through her body, leaving a pebbling of goose bumps across her flesh. She swallowed hard and met the unflinching gaze across from her, as Alexei’s blue eyes darkened to midnight.
She started to speak, her voice raspy. She cleared her throat and tried again. “What does the note say? Who wrote it?”
“A woman named Tatyana. She’s a victim of...rape, of slavery.”
“Slavery?” Britt wrapped her hands around her coffee cup, trying to warm them, but little heat remained in the lukewarm liquid. “Who? Does she name her rapist?”
Alexei released the crumpled napkin, and it fell to the table in a ball. “She doesn’t name names, but I think it’s clear who’s behind the human trafficking.”
Britt smoothed out the napkin on the table and read the black-and-red lettering of the club’s logo in the corner. “The Tattle-Tale Club? Sergei?”
“A good assumption.”
“Why would my sister be in danger?” She flattened her hands against her belly to soothe the butterflies swirling inside. “D-do you think they tried something on her?”
“I think they’re too smart to try to enslave an American with a family, but your sister must’ve known Tatyana. Maybe Tatyana was reaching out to her for help. If Sergei knew about the note, that would be enough to put Leanna in danger.”
Britt chewed on her bottom lip. She and Leanna didn’t have much family to speak of—just each other, and they’d done a poor job of having each other’s backs up to now. She’d done a poor job.
“I don’t understand.” The strange characters of the note blurred before Britt’s eyes, which were puddling with tears. “I work at the club of my own free will. I witnessed a bunch of women coming into work—some waitresses, some dancers—nobody forcing them.”
Alexei drove his finger into the napkin on the table. “Maybe this Tatyana worked at a different place. They have more than one.”
“They?”
“Sergei’s family. They own a restaurant and banquet hall in Van Nuys. There could be other activity going on there.”
“One of the other waitresses mentioned a banquet hall tonight.”
Alexei’s lean jaw tightened, and Britt could almost imagine smoke coming out of his ears from the anger that kindled in his eyes. He’d done his research. He knew these people. Maybe he could help her find Leanna.
“Is that why you were in the club? You’re investigating human trafficking?”
He blinked once, his heavy lids shuttering the blue depths of his eyes. “No.”
“But now that you know about this—” she poked at the napkin on the table between them “—you can bring charges against them. You can tell the police about my sister.”
“Now that I know about this aspect of their operation, I can use it to further my own investigation. It’s not a good idea to involve the police at this stage. That will just alert Sergei and his family and drive them further underground. We don’t even know who or where Tatyana is.”
Since she’d hit her own brick wall with the police, she wasn’t anxious to return to them for help. She’d rather put her money on this blue-eyed stranger who seemed to understand the seriousness of her sister’s predicament.
Drawing in a breath, she folded her hands on the table in front of her. “If you help me find my sister, because I refuse to believe she’s dead, I’ll help you.”
He raised one eyebrow. “You’ll help me?”
Her gaze dropped to his mouth—no twitching or smirking. At least he hadn’t laughed at her. As she took in the soft sensuousness of his lips, at odds with the intensity of his face, she had a hard time dragging her gaze away from them.
“That’s right.” She blinked and swept her hair back from her face. “I’m inside the club, and I plan to stay there. I can find out who Tatyana is and how my sister knew her. I’ll give you everything I have...and you’ll return the favor by using your resources to look for Leanna.”
Steepling his long fingers, he said, “You’re putting yourself in danger by working at the Tattle-Tale. How do you know Sergei and Irina haven’t already discovered your identity?”
“You have done your research. You know about Irina, too?”
He waved one hand. “Answer my question, Britt.”
Alexei didn’t have a detectable accent—after all, he was a born-and-bred American—but he pronounced her name with a long e sound, like Breet. She liked it. She liked everything about him.
“For one thing, Irina doesn’t know me as Britt Jansen. Like I told you before, I’m Barbie Jones from New York, nice and anonymous.”
“And if they do a search for Leanna Jansen, are they going to find her sister, Britt, who looks a lot like their new waitress Barbie?”
“Leanna went by Lee, and we have different last names. She’s Leanna Low.”
“She’s Chinese?”
“Half. After my mother split from my father, she...ah...played the field. Let’s just say that the only reason she knew Leanna’s father was Mr. Low was because of Leanna’s features.” Britt flicked her fingers in the air. “But that’s another story.”
“So the two of you don’t look much alike?”
“Not to the casual observer. Believe me, Irina has made no connection between me and Lee-Low.”
This time Alexei’s lips did twitch. “Is that why your sister uses the nickname of Lee?”
“Yes.” She tapped her phone and skimmed through several pictures with the tip of her finger. “Leanna has a quirky sense of humor and lives kind of a Bohemian lifestyle.”
She spun her phone around on the table to face Alexei. “That’s my sister. That’s Lee-Low.”
“They’ll never guess you two are sisters, not by appearance, anyway.” He studied Leanna’s picture for a few seconds, running his finger down her sister’s tattooed arm. Then he smacked the table next to the phone. “Delete this photo from your phone and any others you have of your sister.”
Gasping, she scooped up her phone and held it to her heart. “I can’t do that. I have so few pictures of her.”
“Download them to your computer and then delete them. If someone at the club finds your phone, or snoops through it or even if you’re showing them something else and they see any pictures of Lee, you’ve blown your cover.”
“My cover?” She grabbed his hand. “You’re going to take me up on my offer?”
He shrugged quickly. “I figure you’re not going to leave that club just because I tell you to, so we might as well make this deal. I don’t want you putting yourself in harm’s way—no more skulking around. The cameras are going to catch you anyway. Don’t ask any questions about Tatyana or Lee, but keep your eyes and ears open.”
She was still in possession of his hand, so she squeezed it. “I can do that. And you’ll help me find my sister?”
“I will, and I’m going to start by searching through her belongings. Do you have them, or are they still in her apartment?” He drove the heel of his hand against his forehead. “Don’t tell me you’re staying in Lee’s apartment.”
“I’m not that stupid. I did pay her past-due rent and a few months in the future...just in case she comes back, but I rented myself a little bachelor in West Hollywood. I left Leanna’s apartment as I found it, except for this.” She pinched the Tattle-Tale napkin between two fingers and then stuffed it into her purse. “Like I said, it was with her bills that I took with me.”
“Have you been back to her place since?”
“No.”
“Anything else?” Their waitress had returned with a coffeepot and their check.
Alexei glanced at Britt, and she shook her head. “We’re good, thanks.”
As Britt ducked beneath the strap of her purse, she watched Alexei peel off a few bills from the same wad he’d used to tip the Russian dancer. His strong fingers moved with deftness and confidence, and for the first time since coming to LA to look for Leanna, Britt was good.
While Alexei had confirmed her worst fears about her sister, Britt now had someone on her side—a mysterious Russian American with acute knowledge and vast resources.
“Let’s go, moya solnishka.”
That was the second time he’d called her that. She had no idea what it meant and didn’t want to know, but Alexei Ivanov could call her anything and she’d follow him anywhere.
* * *
AS BRITT DROVE through her sister’s seedy neighborhood looking for a parking spot, she continued to keep one eye on her rearview mirror. Nobody at the Tattle-Tale had any reason to follow her, but she didn’t want to tempt fate. With that in mind, she drove around the block from her sister’s place and parked in front of a different, although just as crummy, apartment building.
She exited her car and scanned the block, her gaze sweeping past an older couple walking a dog and a young Latino waiting for someone at the curb, his car idling and his music thumping through the open window.
She didn’t even know what Alexei was driving. He’d walked her to her car in the diner’s parking lot and watched as she drove away. Maybe he had a gadget to materialize and then disappear. She wouldn’t put it past him after watching how he’d altered Sergei’s security footage from his phone.
Hunching into her sweater against the gloomy late-June marine layer that had spread inland, Britt loped down the sidewalk. She turned the corner and made a beeline for Leanna’s pink stucco apartment building.
She jogged up the steps to Leanna’s place on the second floor and held her breath as she peered down the row of doors leading to about six apartments. She stopped midway at Leanna’s door and inserted the key into the dead bolt first and then the door-handle lock.
Her heart skipped a beat at the whisper of movement behind her, and she spun around, her nose meeting Alexei’s chest.
“Hurry, before someone sees us.” He reached past her and pushed open the door, crowding her inside from behind.
She closed it and locked the dead bolt. Turning to face the room, she slipped the key into the pocket of her sweater.
“Is this how you left it?” Alexei took a turn around the small living room.
“Yes.” Britt’s gaze darted among Leanna’s sparse furnishings, lingering on a row of oil paintings propped up against the wall. A dark piece with red swirls was still clipped to the easel in front of the window.
Alexei pointed to the painting. “Your sister was an artist?”
“Yes, and I’m pretty sure she wouldn’t have left her work behind.”
“Is it worth anything?” Alexei cocked his head to the side as if trying to make sense of the chaos on the canvas.
“They could be. She told me she sold a few pieces on the street at an art fair.”
“Where did you find the bills with that note on the napkin?”
Britt crossed the room and rapped on the kitchen counter that doubled as a table. “Right here. There were three bills, and the napkin was stuffed inside one of the envelopes.”
Alexei squeezed past her into the kitchen, his leather jacket brushing her arm. While the hot summer weather hadn’t yet descended on Southern California, the jacket and his motorcycle boots seemed like overkill—unless he rode a motorcycle.
He pulled open drawers and cabinets. “Looks like she took most of her kitchen stuff.”
Britt snorted. “That’s what the cops said even though I tried to tell them my sister wouldn’t have had much of that stuff to take. It’s not like she had a set of matching china to pack. Besides, I thought you believed my theory after finding Tatyana’s note.”
“Maybe she knew she was in danger and got out.”
“That’s what I’ve been hoping ever since you translated that note, but why wouldn’t she contact me?”
“Fear? Doesn’t want to involve you?”
“That would’ve been the old Leanna, but I made her promise me at the beginning of this year to call me if she needed anything.”
Crossing his arms, he wedged his hip against the counter. “Why weren’t you two close? Is it because you’re half sisters?”
“We didn’t grow up together.” Britt traced the dingy grout lines on the tiled countertop. “My mother was a drug addict and lost custody of us when we were little. My father’s family took me in, but they didn’t want Leanna. She went to foster care.”
“Your father?”
She shrugged her shoulders, hoping to convey everything, knowing it conveyed nothing at all. “Do you want to search the rest of the place?”
He pushed off the counter and returned to the living room in a few steps. He pulled the cushions off the couch and held up a quarter. “Payback for taking care of her bills and rent.”
He tossed it to her, and she caught it in one hand. “My sister doesn’t have to reimburse me. I just want her back.”
He continued to go through Leanna’s belongings in the living room, flipping through her pieces of modern art. “These aren’t half-bad. They convey a range of deep emotions—rage, terror, hopelessness.”
“You see all that in those swishes of dark, heavy strokes of paint?”
“Must be my Russian heritage.” He twisted his mouth into a smile—of sorts. “Anything else you can tell me about this room? Nothing missing from the last time you were here?”
“Not that I can tell. You think someone searched her place?”
“They may have done that before you or the police got here. It’s a good thing she hid that note in her bills. I guess she was pretty sure nobody would want to look through those.”
“Nobody but me.” Britt caught her breath. “Maybe that’s why she put the napkin with her gas bill. Leanna knew I’d grab all that stuff and take care of it for her. She put it someplace where she could be sure I’d find it.”
“If Sergei’s people never saw Tatyana’s note, maybe they don’t know anything about it. Although you can bet if Tatyana and Lee were close, they noticed.”
Britt clasped her hands together. “Oh, God. I hope Leanna got out of Dodge on her own, sensing danger. But why won’t she call me?”
“Did the police ever ping her phone?”
“Turned off. My sister used cheap burner phones anyway. She was always calling me from a different number.”
Alexei gave the living room a last look before heading to the back of the apartment. He poked his head into the empty bathroom, where a lone towel was hanging unevenly on a rack. “Anything in here?”
“No, and the police clung to that fact.” She nudged him out of the way, liking the feel of his solid shoulder beneath her hands. She yanked open the medicine cabinet above the sink. “All cleared out. Nothing in the shower. As if some...kidnapper couldn’t have swept all her toiletries into a plastic bag and hauled them out of here.”
“Same story in the bedroom?” Alexei jerked his thumb over his shoulder at the final room in the dinky apartment, already making his way toward it.
“There are no suitcases.” She followed him into Leanna’s bedroom. “But honestly, I don’t even know if Leanna had any suitcases.”
He flung open the slatted closet doors, and the empty hangers swayed on the wooden rod. Grabbing a handful of clothing on the other side, he pulled them forward for a closer look.
“These aren’t all the clothes she had, right? I mean, most women—” he released the clothes and they rustled and whispered back into place “—have a lot more than this in their closets.”
As she stood beside Alexei, relishing his shoulder wedged against hers, drinking in the way his dark stubble outlined his lean jaw, a horrible thought hit her right between the eyes. What if he had someone in his life? A wife? A girlfriend with a bunch of clothes?
“Sh-she wore a lot of different outfits with quirky accessories—hats, scarves.” Britt tipped back her head and squinted at the shelf above the hangers. “I don’t see any of that stuff here.”
Alexei stepped back, and she was able to think again without all that masculinity crowding her. She didn’t even know who or what Alexei Ivanov was. After her internet search for him this morning, she was pretty sure he wasn’t a photographer living in Algeria or a boxer. He was probably FBI, and she planned to ask to see his badge or credentials or whatever before she traveled much further down this rabbit hole with him.
He sat on the edge of the bed and yanked open the single nightstand drawer. He reached inside and held up his find, letting several connected foil packs of condoms unfold from his fingertips. “Would a woman take off with her boyfriend without these?”
“Exactly.” The sight of Alexei brandishing an accordion of condoms did funny things to her insides, so she charged forward to prove otherwise, hovering over his shoulder to peek into her sister’s drawer. She wished she hadn’t.
“And those?” She jabbed her finger at the sex toys stuffed in the drawer. “A woman wouldn’t take off with her boyfriend without packing those.”
“I guess not.” Alexei’s eyebrows formed a V over his nose as he tilted his head to the side.
Britt nudged the drawer shut with her knee and brushed her hands together. “I think we pretty much put to rest the boyfriend story, although I’m hoping she hightailed it out of here on her own. Of course, that brings me back to the question of why she hasn’t contacted me. She has to know I’d be worried.”
“Did worrying you bother her before?” Alexei pushed up from the bed and whipped back the covers.
“Not really. Why are you doing that? What are you looking for?”
He flicked the covers back into place. “Bloodstains.”
Britt sucked in a breath, and she plopped down on the edge of the bed. “If somebody did take Leanna, they grabbed her somewhere else. There was nothing out of place here when the manager let the police in. If there had been, the cops would’ve taken my concerns more seriously.”
“Or they snatched her from this apartment and cleaned up after themselves.” He dropped a heavy hand on her shoulder. “I’m sorry about that bloodstains comment. I forget sometimes I’m talking to Leanna’s sister. I’m not used to working with...civilians.”
“Who are you used to working with?” She looked up and locked eyes with him.
His hand tightened on her shoulder when the dead bolt clicked from the living room. He leaned toward her, his warm breath stirring her hair as he whispered in her ear, “It’s someone with a key. Into the closet.”
She froze, and Alexei had to grab her arm and pull her off the bed. He hustled her in front of him to the closet and propelled her inside. He closed the door, drawing a gun from his jacket pocket.
He always had it with him—and right now she couldn’t be happier.
He gave her a gentle push to the back of the closet and arranged Leanna’s clothes around her. As Britt inhaled her sister’s signature musky perfume, she almost doubled over from the pain in her gut.
She must’ve emitted some scared-animal sound because Alexei put his finger to his lips. Then he crouched among the folds of Leanna’s clothing and widened the space between two of the slats with his thumb and forefinger.
The front door slammed, and she jerked. She nestled in closer to Alexei’s body, his warmth shoring her up. Her new position also gave her a view of Leanna’s bedroom.
She took shallow breaths as she listened to shuffling noises from the other room. Could it be the apartment manager checking on something?
Heavy footsteps trudged down the short hallway, and a man burst into the bedroom.
Britt’s fingers bit into the leather of Alexei’s jacket when she recognized Jerome.
He flung himself across the bed and heaved out one terrible sob. “Lee, I’m so sorry.”
* * *
ALEXEI DRILLED A knuckle into Britt’s hip as he watched the bartender from last night thrash and moan on the bed. Just because Britt knew Jerome, there was no reason for her to reveal herself to him—and no reason at all for her to out Alexei.
But Britt kept as still as one of those shoes on the closet floor.
Jerome dragged a pillow over his face, wrapping his arms around it. His body convulsed with his sobs, and then, apparently spent, he knocked the pillow aside and stared at the ceiling.
Alexei’s jaw ached from clenching his teeth, so he widened his mouth, shifting his lower jaw from side to side. He’d better relax. Who knew how long Jerome would gaze at the popcorn on the ceiling. He might even dissolve into another crying jag.
When Alexei realized he was still poking his knuckle into the curve of Britt’s hip, he stretched out his fingers and smoothed them over the spot. He had to be more careful with Britt. He wasn’t with his sniper teammates on this assignment. He kept making insensitive comments about Leanna and then would feel twenty shades of guilt as he watched the color drain from her face.
If he had to be stuck in a closet cheek to cheek with someone for hours, he preferred Britt to any one of his sniper teammates—even Slade, who smelled damned good most of the time.
After another five minutes of contemplation, Jerome rolled off the bed. He wiped his face with the hem of his T-shirt. Then he smoothed out the covers and plumped up the pillow before placing it back at the head of the bed.
He took a look around the room, and Britt pressed against Alexei’s shoulder when Jerome’s gaze lit on the closet.
Alexei coiled his already-tense muscles. If Jerome approached their hiding place, Alexei would have to take him down before he could identify him or Britt. He had no clue what Jerome’s little performance meant, but Alexei wasn’t going to take any chances—not with Britt’s safety.
Jerome patted the sides of his short Afro and exited the room. A minute later the front door opened and closed, and the key scraped in the lock.
Still, Britt didn’t move a muscle.
Alexei shifted his position. “He’s gone.”
Britt collapsed against the clothes. “What the hell was that all about? Do you think Jerome killed Leanna? Is that what he’s sorry for?”
Pushing open the closet doors, Alexei took a deep breath. Even the stale air of the apartment trumped the cloying scent of perfume that overwhelmed him in the closet.
“I don’t know.” He waved a hand at the made-up bed. “Do you get the feeling this isn’t his first trip to this apartment?”
“Oh, yeah. This is some kind of ritual for him. The act seemed to calm him, as if it satisfied his need to expunge his guilt.”
Alexei’s eyebrows shot up. “Looked like he was crying on the bed to me.”
She shrugged as she ran her hands along her sister’s clothing, as if straightening out the folds for her return. “I’m a psychologist in the real world, a marriage-family-child counselor.”
“Which is why you were able to take off however much time you needed to do your sleuthing. And where do you practice? You never told me where you lived, although I’d assumed it wasn’t LA.”
“Charlotte, North Carolina—and you never told me a lot of things about yourself.” She snapped the closet door closed.
He moved away from her and his desire to run his fingers through the soft strands of her hair. “Do you think the guilt Jerome was...expunging is a result of murder?”
“I don’t know. Would a murderer want to be caught rolling around on his victim’s bed, spreading his DNA? And what would his motive be? Leanna mentioned a bartender once or twice as being a nice guy—nothing more.”
“Maybe that’s your motive.” Alexei moved into the living room and lifted the edge of the blind to survey the walkway in front of Leanna’s front door. “All clear.”
“You mean, he was hoping for something more than friendship and Leanna wanted to keep it platonic?”
“It happens.” Must happen to Britt all the time.
“Then Leanna’s disappearance didn’t have anything to do with Sergei’s family, the Tattle-Tale or Tatyana.”
“You sound...disappointed.”
“Disappointed that my sister was murdered by a love-struck bartender instead of Russian sex traffickers? I just want her home safe. I want to hear from her. I want to know she’s okay.” Britt’s voice hitched on the last word, and she covered her face with both hands, her blond hair spilling over her wrists.
“I know. I say stupid things sometimes. I have no tact. The typical blunt Russian.” Alexei rubbed a circle on her back. “But whatever happened to your sister, I’m going to help you figure it out.”
She peeked at him through her fingers. “Even if it has nothing to do with your investigation?”
“Even then. What’s Jerome’s last name? I can start by checking him out.”
“It’s Carter. Jerome Carter.” She swirled her finger in the air. “Are you going to look him up on your magic phone that will immediately spit out his name, rank and serial number?”
“Maybe.” He took a turn around the room. “Let’s get out of here before any more surprise visitors show up. Did we leave everything as we found it?”
“We didn’t disturb anything, but I don’t know if we can say the same about Jerome. What was he doing in here before he came into the bedroom? I heard some rustling noises like paper being shuffled around.”
“Paper.” His gaze darted around the room and stumbled over Leanna’s easel. The dark, tumultuous painting now had a white corner. “Looks like he disturbed the painting on the easel.”
In three steps he crossed the room to the window and lifted the corner of the heavy paper. “There’s another painting beneath this one.”
As he held the corners of the top painting, Britt reached over him and squeezed open the clips holding it to the easel. Alexei tugged the paper, and it peeled away from the easel, revealing another, much different piece of art beneath it.
A young woman from the waist up, nude, her arms crossed over her breasts, stared back at him with dark, fathomless eyes. Alexei’s eye twitched, and his left hand curled into a fist.
“Oh, that’s different from her usual.”
“Do you see that?” He traced his finger along a tattoo on the underside of the woman’s forearm. “A snake curled around the letter B.”
“Not your typical hearts and butterflies.”
“I know that tattoo.”
“You do? What is it?”
“It’s the sign of the Belkin crime family, and this woman is their slave. This is Tatyana.”
Chapter Four (#u6f674270-d476-51fe-bb39-4375f4aba784)
Britt ducked closer to the painting, her hand to her throat. “A tattoo? They tattoo the women who work for them?”
Alexei almost stopped himself from correcting Britt. Why did he always have to drag her onto the dark side where he resided? Then he shook his head. She never once asked him for protection, and if they were going to find out what happened to Leanna, she had to know the whole ugly truth.
“Maybe I wasn’t clear before, Britt. Tatyana doesn’t work for the Belkins. She’s part of their sex network. They pay her in room and board and drugs.”
“And those women at the Tattle-Tale?”
“The waitresses and dancers work and get paid just like you, but it wouldn’t surprise me if Sergei was using the Tattle-Tale as a feeder system for the sex ring.”
She released the clip at the top of the easel and tugged at the corner of the portrait. “I’m taking this with me. Tatyana and Leanna must’ve been friends. She probably told my sister about the trafficking.”
“Putting Leanna’s life in danger.” Alexei refused to discuss whether or not he believed Britt’s sister was already dead. He had no doubt the Belkins would murder Leanna for her knowledge, but she may have been able to slip away before they got their chance.
As to why Leanna hadn’t contacted her older half sister and told her everything? Britt seemed to have romanticized her relationship with Leanna into something it clearly wasn’t. If he wanted to give Leanna the benefit of the doubt, which he gave anyone, maybe she was protecting Britt. But disappearing without a trace was not the way to do it.
Britt knelt on the floor and rolled up the painting. “If Belkin’s people did search Leanna’s apartment, or...packed her things to make it look like she’d gone of her own free will, they missed this painting. There’s no way they would’ve left this here for the police or anyone else to find, would they?”
“No, especially with that tattoo prominently displayed, but that means Jerome knows something, as well. He definitely looked at this painting before he came into the bedroom for his breakdown.” He put out his hand to help her up.
“Thanks.” She tucked the rolled paper under her arm. “I’m going to get to know Jerome better tonight.”
“Is that a good idea?” Alexei scratched his jaw. “We don’t know anything about him.”
“Yet. You were going to use your resources to investigate him, right?”
“Yes.”
“And while I’m at it, I’m going to get to know you better, too, Alexei Ivanov. I know you’re not an artist or a boxer.”
Of course Britt had checked him out. She wasn’t stupid, or particularly trusting...despite her angelic looks and her halo of blond hair.
“You should know by now you can trust me, or Sergei would’ve fired you before your shift tonight.”
“Oh, I’m pretty sure I can trust you, but can you trust me?”
He narrowed his eyes, noticing for the first time that Britt’s pretty face included a stubborn chin. “What does that mean?”
“I offered to help you, too, but I have to know who you are and why you’re investigating the Belkins if it’s not the sex trafficking. And if you don’t tell me—” she dragged Leanna’s keychain from the front pocket of her jeans and dangled it in front of his face “—I’m going to have to complain to Sergei about a suspicious man who comes to the club by himself and doesn’t even watch the dancers.”
He raised an eyebrow as humor and annoyance battled in his face. “You’re kidding.”
“I’m not kidding. You know everything about me and what I’m doing here, and you just keep tossing out these tantalizing hints. If we’re gonna be a team, I don’t want to be kept in the dark.”
“You do realize that if you mention me to Sergei, I’ll have to out you, too.”
She snorted, her delicate nostrils flaring. “You wouldn’t do that and put me in danger.”
Alexei studied her face, his gaze moving from her dark green eyes to her resolute jawline. He’d prided himself on playing it close to the vest, but his protective instincts must’ve been on full display. “Pretty sure of yourself, huh?”
“Oh, yeah. I work with people every day, their deepest, darkest feelings all out there in the room between us.”
“What if I told you you’d be compromising national security if you told Sergei about me?”
“I’d tell you that you’d better start talking.”
* * *
AS BRITT SAT across the dinner table from Alexei, she ripped a roll in half and dredged one piece in the small plate of olive oil between them.
She wouldn’t really have exposed him to Sergei, and he probably knew that—at least she hoped he did. If Alexei had decided to tell her his secrets, he was doing so because he wanted to. The man across from her wouldn’t allow himself to be forced into anything.
She held up the bread, dripping oil, and asked, “Why’d you choose this place for dinner?”
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