The Stripper and the SEAL
Alpha Squad #2
Jenna Bennett
Contents
Introduction
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
About the Author
A Damsel in Distress…
* * *
Alpha Squad Lieutenant Maksim "Mad Max" Vasiliev lost his sister to the Russian Brotherhood. She was killed in prison while he was overseas on maneuvers, and there was nothing he could do about it.
* * *
When beautiful Gabrielle crosses his path, with two Russian enforcers on her tail, Max is determined that the Bratva isn't going to score another one.
* * *
But as the case unfolds, from lofty political circles in Washington, DC, to the attempted murder of a federal judge in Idaho, it's all Max can do to try to keep himself and Gabrielle alive. And hope that when it's all over, Gabrielle will consent to stay in Virginia Beach with a lowly Navy SEAL, instead of going back to her life in DC.
1
Max noticed the new waitress the second he walked into the FUBAR.
She was the kind of woman one noticed. Especially in a place like the FUBAR, which was loaded to the rafters with testosterone. Located within a couple miles of the Joint Expeditionary Base, not to mention the Naval Base Oceana, the Naval Shipyards, and the Dam Neck Training Center, the FUBAR did a brisk business in beer and sometimes stronger stuff for tired Marines and sailors, and those with something to forget or celebrate.
Most of the waitresses hired on to get close to the men. The few female guests were there for the same reason. When Max walked in, followed by three other members of SEAL Team Sixteen’s Alpha Squad, they got quite a few appreciative looks from the women.
Not from the redhead, though. She took one look at him, turned pale, and ran in the other direction.
Or if she didn’t exactly run, she moved like a blur, like she couldn’t get away from him fast enough.
It was weird, because Max could have sworn he’d never seen her before. He would have remembered. She was memorable, even though she’d obviously done her best to look as plain as possible.
She was tall, and he liked that. He was over six-and-a-half feet, and some little five-foot armful just made him worry he’d hurt her without meaning to.
She had red hair, and that was memorable, too. Blondes and brunettes came and went, but he didn’t see that many redheads. She’s scraped hers off her face into a braid that was tight enough to pull her eyebrows back, but he could tell it was long and thick, and—judging from the ends—probably curly, or at least had a nice wave to it.
Her face was perfect, even without any makeup. He wouldn’t say she didn’t need it, because outlining those eyes and painting the lips fire engine red would have made her into a knockout, but she was pretty damn gorgeous without a speck of paint, too.
And she had a body that just wouldn’t quit. Long legs in tight jeans, a slightly too-large T-shirt that she probably hoped would hide her assets, and a sway of her hips, even in sneakers, that made it look like she moved to the beat of some music no one else could hear. Something with a lot of bounce.
No, he’d never seen her before. Even dead drunk, he’d have remembered her.
So maybe it wasn’t him she was running from.
“Anyone else know the redhead?”
“What redhead?” JB said, predictably. JB was so hung up on the railroad heiress they’d left in Pennsylvania that he couldn’t see straight. Poor guy probably hadn’t even noticed the most gorgeous woman Max had seen in a while.
“Never mind.” He looked at Rusty and Andy Lee.
“Doesn’t look familiar,” Andy said. Rusty shook his head. A man of few words, Rusty.
So maybe Max had been wrong and she wasn’t running from anyone in particular. Maybe she just didn’t like the looks of them. The SEALs did have a look all their own. They were exempt from the flattop haircuts of the regular sailors, and you’d never mistake one of them for a jarhead.
So maybe she thought they were civilians, and she wasn’t interested.
“Are we gonna stand here,” JB wanted to know, “or are we gonna drink?”
Trying to drown his sorrows, probably. He hadn’t been happy to leave the heiress behind, but it wasn’t like he could have taken her with him. If she wanted to come to Little Creek and take up with an enlisted man, that was going to have to be her choice.
“We’re gonna drink,” Max said, and led the way to the bar.
Up on a barstool, with a beer in front of him, he nodded to the bartender. “Who’s the new waitress?”
She’d come out of hiding, and was circling the room. Keeping a wide berth to the bar, though. She’d glanced at him once—he was pretty sure of it—and had looked away quickly when she caught him looking back.
Not the kind of coy look a woman gave a man she was interested in. More the kind of look a woman gave a man she was afraid of.
“Bree?” Jim said. “She came in yesterday looking for a job.” He followed the redhead with his eyes as she moved around the room. “So far she’s doing all right. The guys seem to like her.”
“What’s not to like?” Max took a sip of his beer.
She didn’t look anything like a Bree. Brianna, maybe. She might be Irish, with that red hair. Although the complexion—milky white and perfect—didn’t look anything like the freckled, transparent skin he usually associated with the nationality.
Just because he didn’t think her name fit, didn’t mean she’d made it up, though. If she said her name was Bree, it probably was.
The front door opened, and a gorgeous blonde walked in. She’d tried to dress down, too, but she still looked like several million bucks, and she was worth at least that much. Jim’s jaw dropped. “Holy shit. Is that...?”
Max nudged Rusty. Rusty looked up into the mirror behind the bar, and nudged Andy. Andy looked up into the mirror, and glanced at Max.
“How about some pool?” Max said, and took his beer with him while JB leapt off his stool to meet the heiress in the middle of the floor, where he picked her up and swung her around. They damn near knocked Bree off her feet as the new waitress tried to squeeze by with a tray full of drinks.
In the back room, the three of them tossed a coin to see who would play first, and Rusty and Andy got busy racking up balls while Max leaned against the wall and looked around. JB and Tansy finished their tonsil examination in the middle of the floor, to a round of applause, and went back to the bar, where Tansy climbed up on the chair Andy had vacated. Jim poured her a glass of white wine. Max could have told her that wasn’t a good idea—it wasn’t likely to be the kind of wine she was used to—but she must have figured that out for herself after the first sip, because she pushed the glass away. She and JB went off into conversation. He looked happy, which was nice.
Max lifted his empty bottle at the barman for a refill, and Jim nodded. Behind him, Max heard the crack of the break, and the sound of balls rolling. He turned his back to the room to watch the game.
It was a couple of minutes later that he felt a presence at his left shoulder. When he turned, the new waitress was standing there.
She was even prettier up close, and for a second he couldn’t get his voice to cooperate. All he could do was stare at what had to be the most gorgeous face he’d ever seen.
What was she doing serving drinks in a place like this? She should be on a magazine cover, or on television, or up on a billboard in Times Square, wearing Victoria’s Secret lingerie and not much else.
Or in his bed, wearing nothing at all.
The image made him light-headed for a second, and by the time he came back to himself, she’d gotten impatient. “Jim said you wanted another beer.”
Her voice was nice, too. Low and sort of smoky. Even when it sounded annoyed.
Max reached for the beer without taking his eyes off her. “Where have you been all my life?”
She rolled her eyes. They were gorgeous, too. Big and light brown, like toffee. Or good whiskey. Or beer.
All things he liked a lot.
And yeah, it wasn’t the smoothest line. Although it was how he felt. He was thirty-two. Where had she been until now?
Certainly not anywhere around here.
She didn’t answer, of course. So he dug a bill out of his pocket and put it on the tray to cover the beer. “Keep the change.”
Her eyes flickered to it, and back to his. It was a big tip, and it looked like she was worried about that. Hopefully she wasn’t thinking he was trying to buy her.
Since that was the last thing he wanted, he gave her a nod and turned away, back to where Rusty and Andy were playing. But he was aware of every second she stood there, and knew just when she turned and walked away.
* * *
JB pulled Tansy out of the FUBAR after a very short time, and as the evening wore on, Rusty and Andy drifted away, too. Max found himself sitting at the bar nursing a beer, not really sure why he couldn’t tear himself away and just get the hell home to get some sleep. O-seven-hundred would be here early. And it wasn’t like Bree—or whatever her name was—had indicated any kind of interest in him. If anything, she’d indicated the opposite. She knew he was watching her, and every so often, she gave him a fulminating look.
At least she’d gone from fear to anger. He hadn’t liked the idea that he was scaring her.
Finally, as the evening drew to a close, Jim the bartender stopped in front of him. “What’s going on, Max?”
“Just finishing my beer.” The beer he’d been nursing for the past hour.
Jim glanced at Bree, who was bussing tables on the other side of the room. “You’re bothering my waitress.”
“I’m not even talking to your waitress.” Very deliberately, too.
“She thinks you’re waiting for her to leave so you can talk to her in the parking lot.”
Max assumed ‘talk to’ was a euphemism for something else. “I hope you told her you know me and I’m not some kind of pervert waiting for her to walk outside so I can jump on her.”
“I told her,” Jim said. “I’m not sure she believed me.”
“Well, for Christ’s sake.”
Jim shrugged, not too apologetically. “She’s a little jumpy. But she’s a good waitress. And you have to admit you can be a little scary.”
Max would admit he could be considerably scary. His intention hadn’t been to scare Bree, though. He didn’t think he’d behaved that badly. He’d been looking at her, sure. She was worth a look. But he wasn’t the only one doing that. Throughout the evening, he’d noticed plenty of the other men doing the same. She’d even smiled at a few, and maybe even flirted a little, which was more than she’d done with him.
That was part of the job, of course. In a place like this, the waitresses would know that being friendly with the men would increase the tips they were likely to make.
But he hadn’t seen anyone cross the line. And he was damn sure he hadn’t. He’d made sure of it. The only time he’d even talked to her, was for those couple of seconds after she’d brought him his beer over by the pool table.
No, it wasn’t his talking to her that had her worried. She’d been scared the second he walked through the door, before he’d said a word. Something about him worried her. And the fact that he was still sitting here, seemingly waiting for the evening to end, worried her more.
Since his intention wasn’t to worry her, he got off the bar stool. “I’ll see you tomorrow, Jim.”
Jim nodded. And stood behind the bar and watched as Max walked to the door.
The place was mostly empty, and Bree was busy putting things to rights over in the corner. Max slowed his steps for a second. “Good night.”
She looked up, and that flash of fear crossed her face again. For just a second before she forced a smile. “Good night.”
She went back to wiping tables. Max walked out the door and into the parking lot.
Everything was quiet outside. It was a nice evening, not too cool. Summer was coming, but it wasn’t here yet. The parking lot was mostly empty. There was his truck, plus a couple of others. One he recognized as Jim’s, because of the FUBAR logo on the side. The Honda he thought belonged to the other waitress, Misty. She was still inside. The cook was in the kitchen, and the souped up Dodge next to Misty’s Honda probably belonged to him.
The Mercedes...
His brows arched. He didn’t know a single sailor or Marine who could afford that.
For a second he thought about Tansy. The railroad heiress could afford any number of Mercedes. But JB had come over here in Max’s truck, so he and Tansy had most likely left in her car.
That left Bree as the owner of the Mercedes. A Mercedes she couldn’t hope to afford on the tips she brought home from the FUBAR.
Whatever she’d been doing before she arrived here, it hadn’t been serving beer to Marines and sailors.
The luxury car was parked with its rear against the fence. Maybe it was just Max’s imagination, but it looked ready for a quick getaway.
Or maybe there was another reason she’d taken the extra time to back it in like that.
He wandered over to it, and around to the rear of the car. And squeezed by the fence far enough to get a look at the license plate.
The car was from DC.
Maybe she was trying to hide that fact, instead of planning a quick getaway.
Or if not hiding it, at least not drawing attention to where she’d come from.
Max crossed the parking lot to his own truck, and climbed behind the wheel.
And didn’t turn the key in the ignition. Instead, he had a little back-and-forth with himself.
He should be going home. It was getting late. Not only did he need to get some sleep before PT tomorrow morning, or his ass would be dragging, but he really didn’t want to act like some obsessed stalker.
He liked women. He liked the looks of this one, and the last thing he wanted to do, was scare her.
Something didn’t add up, though. Why would a woman who could afford a Mercedes in DC leave that life to wait tables in some small hole-in-the-wall military bar in Virginia?
It wasn’t to collect SEALs, or she would have jumped at the chance to collect him. If Jim had told her who Max was, he would have mentioned that part of it, too. Lieutenant Vasiliev with Seal Team Sixteen’s Alpha Squad.
But she hadn’t found him worthy of attention. And that was a little strange, too. So maybe he’d just sit here a little bit, and let the beer settle. It would reflect poorly on Uncle Sam if he blew a high breathalyzer test on the way home.
He leaned back against the seat and looked around. Everything was quiet. A couple of Marines staggered out of the bar and over to the edge of the parking lot. After a minute, a car pulled up and they stumbled inside. Designated pickup, or maybe someone had called them a Lyft. Either way they were gone.
By his estimation, that should be the end of the customers in the FUBAR. It had only been him and the two Marines when he walked out.
The door opened again, and Bree stood outlined in the light. He saw a big bag in her hand, and realized she was coming out to get rid of the trash she’d been gathering when he left.
She stood for a moment looking around. Trying to make sure it was safe?
When nothing moved, she scurried across the lot over to the b
ig dumpster. He watched as she opened the top and threw the bag inside. The aroma of rotting garbage seeped out, and even from this distance, he could see her perfect nose wrinkle as she slammed the lid shut again.
But instead of scurrying back to the bar, away from the smell, she stood still for another second, looking around.
Max willed himself to be invisible. And after a second, she moved. Across the parking lot, until she was behind his truck. He watched in the mirror as she pulled something shiny out of her apron pocket.
Max squinted through the rearview mirror. A butter knife?
That wasn’t sharp enough to puncture one of his tires, was it? Did he have to worry about fixing a flat before he could get out of here?
But no. She dropped out of sight, and he could feel tiny vibrations running through the truck. After a minute she straightened, and ran across the parking lot to her own car. Once she ducked behind the Mercedes, out of sight, Max couldn’t see her, but he could guess what she was doing. The makeshift screwdriver had been visible in her hand, and so had his license plate. Which she was now busy fastening to her own car.
Once the job was done, she straightened and brushed off her hands. She contemplated his truck for a moment—maybe wondering whether it would be worth it to put her own license plate back on it in exchange for the one she’d ‘borrowed.’
She seemed to think better of it, and Max was pleased, since it was clearly the better choice. Instead, the butter knife disappeared back into her apron pocket, and the DC license plate took a dive into the dumpster next to the trash bags. She took one more quick look around the parking lot before she hurried back to the door of the FUBAR and inside.
The whole operation hadn’t taken more than two minutes.
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