Secured by the SEAL

by Carol Ericson

  “Wait. What?” She tucked her hair behind one ear. “Who’s Vlad and what task force?”

  “Vlad is an enemy sniper. We don’t know what nationality he is, but he uses a Russian sniper rifle—just like mine. We’ve been tracking his activities for a few years. He graduated from his sniper-for-hire activities to forming his own terrorist network. So far, we’ve been able to thwart his plans in the US.”

  “He’s plotting attacks here? And this is the person the Belkins are dealing with?”

  “We think so. He tried hooking up with a Colombian cartel, but we were able to quash that. This is obviously his next effort to expand his operations in the US.”

  “There’s a task force to bring him down?”

  “Exclusively dedicated to the goal. Some of my teammates were assigned to the task force at various times in the past several months.” He shrugged. “The Belkin crime family connection is just chatter at this point.”

  “But if you can prove it, you might get the go-ahead from this task force to investigate?”

  “That’s what I’m thinking. It’s not—” He drummed his fingers on the table. “This task force is not a typical one. Navy SEALs were called back to the States to perform operations under the radar. Much of what they did was out of the bounds of law enforcement or military justice.”

  She swirled the coffee in her cup, a smile creeping to her lips. “Sounds right up your alley. What do you need to do to make this happen?”

  His brows collided over his nose. “Even if I find the proof of the Belkin-Vlad connection, I might not be the task force’s first choice to lead the charge. They know my background.”

  “Would make perfect sense to me. Who better to infiltrate the Belkin operation than a Russian American who speaks the language?”

  “There is something to that. It seems like my teammates were chosen for their specific assignments because of their connections to the people involved. The task force leader, Ariel, is not your typical CIA policy wonk.”

  “Ariel?” Britt sucked in her bottom lip. “That’s who you were emailing before. I thought she might be your girlfriend.”

  “Honestly, I’m not even sure she’s a girl, and I never sent that email.”

  “Aha!” She wriggled in her chair. “So, you had already thought about contacting the task force.”

  “It had crossed my mind.”

  Britt pulled her phone closer and checked the time. “Then we both know what we have to do tonight—you need to find evidence of Vlad, and I need to find clues about Leanna.”

  “Just be careful. I think you have an idea of whom you’re dealing with now.”

  “I pretty much knew that from the beginning.”

  The real surprise had been the confession of Alexei Ivanov—a story worthy of a Russian novel with betrayal, vengeance and redemption.

  She just had to make sure this story didn’t feature a doomed love affair.

  Chapter Ten

  Britt studied Alexei as he faced the full-length mirror in the hotel room, picking an imaginary speck of lint from his impeccably tailored jacket.

  “I do have one question for you.” She smoothed the skirt of her black dress over her thighs. “If the government is not sponsoring and paying for your so-called vacation in LA, where is all the cash coming from for the fancy crib and threads?”

  “Crib and threads?” He cracked a rare smile and then patted the pocket of his jacket. “Self-funded.”

  She leaned into the mirror next to him, dabbing at her lipstick. “I didn’t realize the navy paid so well—even for hotshots like you.”

  “After my mother moved to the States and had me, she met a very wealthy Russian businessman. The man, my stepfather, treated me like a son and gave me everything I wanted—still does. I have a half sister, and they treat her like a princess. I think she even pretends she’s a Russian princess.” He rolled his eyes.

  “Does your stepfather know what you’re doing out here?”

  “No. He’d tell my mother. This—” he swept his hand across the suite “—is all from my trust fund, which I rarely touch.”

  “Would your stepfather approve of what you’re doing? Or what you were going to do?”

  “Approve? No, because it would upset my mother, but he’d understand. He comes from that same world, and that’s why he left. All business was controlled by the Vory, and after the fall of the Soviet Union, the oligarchs moved in to claim the spoils. Maks chafed under the restrictions and the graft and became a self-made billionaire here.”

  “After tonight, it won’t come to that.” She bumped him with her hip. “Move it, Russki. You’re primping more than I am.”

  “You don’t need to primp.” He pinched the hem of her dress between two fingers, rubbing them together. “You look beautiful.”

  Alexei’s compliments were simple, straightforward and gave her a warm glow inside because she knew they were sincere.

  “You look beautiful, too.” She spun away from the mirror to face him and smoothed her hands against the lapels of his jacket. A pulse throbbed deep in her belly, and she kissed his mouth. He couldn’t possibly blame her for that, as his lips were inches from hers and she never did have much self-control.

  His eyes flickered but he didn’t back away from her. “Remember our signal if you’re in trouble?”

  “I’m going to twist my hair around one hand. Don’t worry. I’m going to be fine. This is a party in a banquet hall behind a restaurant. I’m going to be serving drinks and Russian caviar.”

  “Just don’t forget what this party is all about.” He touched a finger to her nose. “Despite what Sergei may have told you or even the other waitresses, this is a gathering of wealthy men and the desperate young women who are bound to serve them.”

  Britt shivered. “It makes me sick. Leanna must’ve been livid when she found out what was going on.”

  “Don’t make the same mistake she did. Don’t show your hand.”

  “You either, Mikhail Orloff.” She tugged on his lapels. “How are you getting to the party? You’re not riding the motorcycle in this getup, are you?”

  “Town car.”

  “Fancy. I have to drive over in my old clunker.”

  “Just be careful.”

  “You said that already.”

  “Can’t be said enough.”

  She held up a hand. “Okay, I’m leaving. I’ll see you over there, and I will be careful.”

  She slung her bag over her shoulder, and as she reached the door, Alexei’s stride ate up the space between them.

  He grabbed her shoulders and planted a kiss on her that totally messed up her makeup—and damn, she didn’t even care.

  Forty minutes later, Britt pulled up in front of Eastern Nights, the Belkins’ flagship restaurant. A valet parking attendant rushed to her window.

  She flashed him a smile. “I’m the help. Where do we park?”

  “Pull around the corner, and park in the lot behind the restaurant.” He waved his arm behind him.

  She parked her car and then stood beside it to wait for two of the other waitresses as they pulled into a parking space.

  One of the women, Theanessa, rubbed her hands as she approached Britt. “Get ready for some great tips tonight.”

  Britt nodded. The only tip she wanted was the one that would lead her to Leanna.

  As they all pushed through the back door of the restaurant, Britt asked, “Are the dancers going to be putting on a show tonight?”

  Theanessa smirked. “Hell no. This party’s supposed to be a little higher class than that. There’s a band, some dancing—not the topless kind—and it’s mix and mingle for Sergei’s friends and some special ladies.”

  The other waitress nudged Britt with her elbow and whispered in her ear. “High-class escorts.”

  “Oh.” She put
a hand to her throat. “But we’re just serving drinks and appetizers, right?”

  “You’re not a guest, girl.” Theanessa shed her sweater to reveal a low-cut red dress. “We get our minimum wage plus tips. Those escorts are making the big bucks.”

  Britt bit her bottom lip. She doubted the escorts, as Theanessa called them, were getting paid at all if they were part of the Belkins’ stable.

  She blew out a breath. “Well, I’m just here to be a waitress because Jessie pulled out. Do either of you know what happened to Jessie? I haven’t seen her for a few days.”

  “Nope.” Theanessa gave the other waitress a little push from behind. “The Tattle-Tale has a high turnover.”

  Britt slid a glance to the other woman, whose name she couldn’t remember. Had she been about to spill the beans on Jessie? Britt would have to get her alone tonight for a few discreet questions.

  That was all she was here for—discreet questions.

  When all the waitresses had arrived, they gathered around Irina for instructions.

  Irina, still wearing her yoga pants and oversize blouse, clapped her hands. “All right. Guests begin arriving in about ten minutes. Pick up trays of vodka and wine and work crowd with those. If someone wants mixed drink, they go to bar unless you want to get it for them. You pick up trays of appetizers in the restaurant’s kitchen. Any questions?”

  One of the waitresses raised her hand. “H-how will the guests know we’re not...guests since there’s no uniform for tonight?”

  Britt laced her fingers in front of her and studied Irina’s face. Everyone seemed to know what this party was all about. Would Irina acknowledge that now?

  The older woman crooked her finger, and one of the busboys approached the group holding a plastic bin in his arms.

  Irina pointed to the floor, and the busboy dropped the bin. She then leaned over and grabbed something from it. A white apron dangled from her fingertips. “You wear these. Then you don’t get pretty dresses all dirty.”

  Britt eased out a sigh. She’d rather wear a frilly white apron than be mistaken for an escort.

  Irina tossed out the apron, and Britt caught it with one hand. As she tied it around her waist, Theanessa nudged her back.

  “Kinda ruins the effect of our sexy dresses, doesn’t it? Why didn’t Sergei just have us wear our regular black skirts and white blouses?” She flounced off, dragging the apron behind her on the floor.

  The young waitress Britt had met in the parking lot sidled up next to her. “I’m glad we’re wearing something that’s gonna say we’re waitresses and not...hookers.”

  Britt lodged her tongue in the corner of her mouth as she smoothed the apron over her dress. “Well, they’re not exactly hookers, are they? I mean, they’re like escorts.”

  The woman rolled her eyes. “Call it what you want. They’re gonna get paid for sex.”

  “I’m just here to serve drinks and food.” Britt lifted her shoulders. “Do you know what happened to Jessie? Sergei said she quit.”

  “I’m just here to serve drinks and food.” The waitress yanked the ties on her apron and turned her back on Britt.

  Britt wandered around the room, taking in the orchestra tuning up on the stage and the two bartenders setting up on either side of the large hall. Stepan, Jerome’s replacement at the Tattle-Tale, lifted his hand in a wave, and Britt waved back. She just wanted to fit in tonight and not cause any waves.

  Maybe once Alexei got his proof of the ties between Belkin and Vlad, she’d go home and leave it up to that task force to find Leanna...or at least tell her what had happened to her sister.

  Britt blinked back the tears that tingled in her nose and trailed her hand along the textured paper on the walls. Her hand dropped off at the gap created by a small hallway tucked off the main room.

  She poked her head around the corner, noting several closed doors. She’d already seen the bathrooms between the restaurant and the banquet hall, so these couldn’t be restrooms. She glanced over her shoulder and took a step into the hallway.

  One of the doors swung open, and Britt jumped back.

  Irina emerged, pursing her lips when she noticed Britt. Irina bore down on her and grabbed her upper arm, the Russian woman’s bony fingers digging into Britt’s flesh.

  “Nothing here, Barbie. Guests will be arriving soon. Get tray of drinks and get busy.”

  “Sorry.” Britt shook her off. “Just exploring.”

  “No exploring. Just working.”

  As Britt walked away, she placed a hand against her pounding heart. Irina had an iron grip—and she was completely loyal to the Belkins...and armed.

  Drawing in a deep breath, she squared her shoulders and strode toward Stepan’s bar. “Do you have any trays ready yet?”

  “Just getting started. You help me?”

  “Sure. What do you need?”

  He handed her an expensive bottle of vodka, icy cold, and pointed to a tray of shot glasses on the table behind her. “Fill those about three-quarters.”

  “You got it.” She tipped the vodka into glass after glass until they all shimmered with the clear liquid. “Do you want me to do another?”

  He gestured toward the entrance, where several people had begun to gather. “Time for one more, and then we get busy.”

  He set up another tray of glasses for her and lined up two more chilled bottles of vodka.

  As she watched a stream of liquid pour into the first shot glass, she asked, “You’ve worked these parties before?”

  “Once.”

  “Do they get pretty crazy?”

  “Crazy?” He laughed. “Not crazy with these boring old men.”

  She finished off the tray with a flourish. “Well, I hope these boring old men tip well.”

  “They will.” Stepan’s gaze tracked down her body.

  Britt folded her arms across her chest. “That’s what I’m talkin’ about. You’re on your own now, Stepan. I’m going to start mingling with the vodka.”

  She hoisted one of the trays and couldn’t get out of Stepan’s slimy presence fast enough. Since she’d filled that first tray, more guests had arrived and were fanning out across the room to park at tables and wander to the back of the banquet hall to check out the long table, groaning with Russian delicacies.

  Britt kept watch for one tall, dark, good-looking Russian with blue eyes, but Alexei hadn’t arrived yet. Instead a squat, silver-haired man in the middle of the room held sway over a group of people hanging on to his every word.

  She had a visceral reaction to the man, like a punch to the gut, and had no doubt she was watching Olav Belkin in action.

  Stretching her lips into a smile, she approached a cluster of men. “Vodka?”

  Two of the group relieved her of two glasses, and she dived into the growing crowd to dispense with the rest. She circled back around to Stepan’s station, dropped off the empty tray and picked up one crowded with flutes of champagne.

  This cargo gave her a better opportunity to get up close and personal with more of the women guests. She glided up to three men and two women, the women perfectly made up and exquisitely dressed.

  “Champagne?” She proffered the tray and almost dropped the whole thing when one of the women reached for a glass, exposing the small, fresh tattoo on the underside of her forearm.

  Britt’s eyes bounced to the woman’s face, and this time the tray wobbled in her hand so much a couple of the flutes tipped over.

  Britt grabbed a bunch of napkins from the stack on her tray and blotted the puddle of liquid. “I am so sorry.”

  “No problems.” Mila took another glass and smiled. Then she ducked her head. “You coming to party tomorrow night at Rage, Barbie? Last night for me as dancer.”

  “Oh, I’ll try.”

  With her pulse racing a mile a minute, Britt scurried back to the bar�
��not Stepan’s—and placed the tray on the table next to it. Wedging her hands on either side of the tray, she leaned forward. Mila had gone through with it. She’d gotten the Belkin tattoo, and now she was here at this party as a commodity. She was moving from dancer to escort.

  She squeezed her eyes shut. Mila didn’t seem to be here under duress. She’d smiled, taken a glass of champagne, looked beautiful.

  “Hey, Barbie, right?”

  Britt looked up and met Theanessa’s eyes over a tray of food. “Yes.”

  “If you’re between deliveries, can you take this food out there?” She winked. “I have to make a little detour.”

  Britt shifted her gaze over Theanessa’s shoulder, and it collided with an older man’s beady black eyes.

  His stare hardened, and Britt looked away. Did Theanessa know what she was getting into? Did any of these women?

  Reaching out her arms, Britt said, “Sure, sure. I’ll take it.”

  “Thanks.”

  As Theanessa handed off the tray, Britt grabbed her wrist. “Be careful.”

  Theanessa’s laughter trilled in her throat as she spun away toward her new friend, leaving Britt gripping the heavy tray with two hands, the edges cutting into her palms.

  She waded back into the crowd, which had thinned out a bit once the orchestra had struck up its first tune. Several couples claimed the dance floor, the women like colorful butterflies floating closer and closer to the spiders’ webs.

  Britt spotted Alexei with two other men, heads together. Did he realize Olav Belkin was in the room? Of course he did. He probably had him on his radar at all times.

  She zigzagged through the mass of people to reach him and ducked into their circle. “Appetizers?”

  “Thanks.” Alexei selected blini with smoked salmon from the tray.

  One of his companions touched her hip. “I don’t know. What’s on the menu?”

  Britt’s smile tightened and she raised the tray close to his face. “Only what’s on the tray.”

  The man guffawed and elbowed the third member of the group in the ribs. “She’s feisty. I like feisty.”