I pulled up to his tiny apartment in Point Loma, praying he wasn’t off somewhere training. The sight of fresh mud on the door of his lifted truck alleviated that fear.
My fingers traced the doorbell. His dog Hero let out a friendly bark. There was no turning back. I pressed the button.
“Hello?” Grant’s deep, sexy voice sounded groggy through the intercom.
He must’ve been asleep even though it was three in the afternoon. Probably another balls to dawn training rotation. Back when we were together, I’d make sure to have his place clean, his favorite meals cooked, Hero walked and fed when he came home from those all-nighters. It was some of the only times he allowed me to take care of him. “Hey, it’s me.”
His tone turned bitter, dark. “What do you want, Mia?”
I couldn’t help but smile that he still recognized my voice immediately, even though we’d been broken up for two years and hadn’t seen each other in six months. I knew what I had done to him. Abandoned him in his hour of need, secretly blaming him for being gone when I needed him most, not willing to allow him to see me at my lowest point. My fatal flaw had ruined our love. My conceit.
Joaquín would never turn his back on someone he loved. He would embrace his anxiety. Shake hands with fear.
Somehow I would have to learn to do the same.
“I need to talk about Joaquín.”
Grant opened the door, and I gasped at the sight of him standing in front of me wearing only pajama bottoms. I’d forgotten how incredible his body was; his broad shoulders and V-shaped torso displayed no body fat, just a perfect eight-pack of abs. His skin glowed in the afternoon sun, highlighting his sculpted arms, which were covered with ink. My eyes focused on his huge hands, remembering how they had explored every inch of my body. He ran his fingers through his golden hair, and I imagined those fingers deep inside me, sending spikes of pleasure to my core. The scruff of his beard hid the deep scar on his neck. His green eyes seemed to shoot beams of kryptonite at me, exposing my soul.
Right, I came here for my brother.
“Let me in, Grant.” I pushed my way inside the door, scanning the place for signs of another woman. All clear. Hero, his black lab/pug mix, gave me a lick on my face and lay by my feet.
The last time I saw Grant was an awkward run-in at my brother’s apartment last summer before they deployed. Grant had ignored me the entire time. No matter how hard I’d tried, he refused to engage with me.
Today, he had no choice.
***
THE VIXEN STANDING IN FRONT of me barely resembled my beautiful Mia. Her waist-length brown hair that had once carried the scent of coconut milk and vanilla beans was now tinted fuchsia and chopped off into a long, angled bob with spiky bangs. Her freckled skin was painted up like a streetwalker’s. Her soft curves were hard, skinny, angular. Her nails, which had always been kept short and pale, were filed into sharp points and polished black, like daggers. I fucking hated her full look. Like some bullshit revenge breakup make-under meant to ensure that I wasn’t attracted to her anymore.
It didn’t work—I still wanted her.
My eyes lingered on her small breasts and fell down to her hips. “There’s nothing I can do. No one remembers anything—and if they do, they aren’t talking. I’m sorry. For what it’s worth, I don’t think he’s guilty.”
“Of course he’s not guilty. But you can help him. You know the men on the Team. You were there. We can find out who killed that girl. I’ll do whatever it takes. Maybe I could go undercover? I’m a chameleon. An actress, a makeup artist. I’ve reinvented myself so many times even you wouldn’t be able to recognize me. We can do this.”
This bitch was crazy. “You can’t be serious. You’re five-feet-four inches tall, one hundred thirty pounds. I used to have to open spaghetti jars for you. You think you can defend yourself against a SEAL? No way can you outsmart my Team. Sorry, Mia. It will never work. You’re delusional. I could recognize you no matter how you changed.” I knew every inch of her body, the sound of her voice, the way her lips parted when she was embarrassed, the glint in her hazel eyes when she wanted her way, the flush on her cheeks when she came.
I loved you. Picturing her smile had gotten me through those long muddy nights freezing my balls off in the frigid water during BUD/S. Her faith, her love, her belief in me had kept me from quitting, from ringing that bell. Too bad it was all complete bullshit.
She touched my face, tracing the beard that hid the scar on my neck. “I just need one of them to talk.”
I pushed her hand away. My stomach churned, I couldn’t stand the sight of her. Couldn’t she see the hurt in my eyes? I’d once looked at her with warmth, love, devotion. Now only her betrayal lingered in the air. “SEALs don’t talk.”
She let out a laugh. “You did. You used to tell me everything.”
Smartass. My fist clenched. “Yeah, I did. Only because you were my girl. What are you going to do—fuck them all?”
A wicked smile graced her lips. “Why the hell not? I’m single, remember? You made it clear you never wanted anything to do with me again.”
My chest tightened. She was taunting me. The thought of her, my girl, being screwed senseless by my friends made my palms sweat. She was mine—only mine. She’d lost her virginity to me, and I’d always found comfort knowing that no other man had ever touched her. Images flashed through my head, picturing another man kissing her, fucking her, making her come, her screaming out his name.
I swallowed hard and steadied my breath. “Stop, Mia. We both know damn well you were the one who fucked things up. Even if you were that much of a bitch and wanted to fuck me over more than you already have, none of them would touch another Team guy’s woman. Especially since you’re also Joaquín’s sister. I only got away with sleeping with you because we started dating before Joaquín and I became SEALs. And no matter what you think, in their eyes, you will always be mine.”
She cringed, and I noted the look of shame on her face. Had she cheated on me back then? I would never believe that. Like a wild animal, I was confident that I could’ve sensed another man’s scent on my woman. Even so, Mia was hiding something from me. There was more to her leaving me than being too young for a serious relationship. Unfortunately, I didn’t have a fucking clue what her secret was. She never even gave me the chance to fix it.
She leveled her gaze at me. “Yeah? Yet you are sure quick to abandon Joaquín at the first sign of trouble. So much for leaving no man behind. You know if the situation were reversed, Joaquín would do anything possible to set you free.”
Dammit, I shouldn’t have let her in the door. This was already too intense, too emotional. “It’s not that simple and you know it. I’m under orders not to talk to him. I don’t have a choice.”
“Can you tell me about the girl who died? Who invited her? Was Joaquín dating her?”
I clenched my teeth. Some people thought that since I was a SEAL I’d have a wicked temper, but I had complete control of my emotions at all times. That composure allowed me the mental strength to point a loaded gun at my enemy and still be able to make a conscious decision not to pull the trigger. I’d never raised my voice to Mia, ever. Even so, she knew when I was pissed off.
“What the fuck, Mia? Do you think you can just walk in here like you didn’t rip my heart out and I’m just going to comfort you and fix this mess? I already fucking told you there’s nothing I can do. And I don’t owe you anything.”
Her chin dipped to her chest, her shoulders slumping. “I know you don’t believe me, and I don’t expect you to, but I had to leave. I didn’t have a choice.”
I looked back at my bed, the rumpled covers. For a moment, I remembered watching Mia sleep in my bed, the way she always curled up in a ball, with Hero at her feet. I never told her, but she used to talk in her sleep, sometimes even said my name. “There’s always a choice. We aren’t in this together. My world started and stopped with you. All my friends told me that we wouldn’t work, that we didn�
�t have a chance because we were so young and because of my job, but I told them you were different. That you would have my back no matter what.”
Her voice cracked. “For what it’s worth, I’ve never even looked at another guy. I want you to know that.”
My eyes bore into her. “That’s supposed to make it better? That I’m the only man you’ve ever been with, but you still don’t want to be with me? Well, I wish I could say it were that easy for me. Since you left, I’ve fucked a bunch of girls, trying to get you out of my head.” But she was still fucking there every night when I closed my eyes. I prayed her face would soon fade from my mind.
Her mouth tightened. She wasn’t stupid—she had to know from her brother that I’d been with women since her. But she only had herself to blame. “Please, Grant, if what we had meant anything to you, please help me exonerate Joaquín.”
My eyes met hers, and I cupped her face, fighting the urge to kiss her. “You meant everything to me. You know that.”
She pulled away from me, her bottom lip quivering. “I came back.”
“You left me. Period. You can never come back.” As much as I loved Mia, I could never give her another chance. I refused to let myself rely on any woman after she had abandoned me. I didn’t need that type of stress. My job was consuming—my personal life had to provide me stability and comfort. Or at the very least, simple release.
“But—I need you.”
I’d needed her once also. Now, I needed her to leave. “I can’t help you. I’ll do anything I can to clear Joaquín, you know that. But my hands are tied. You need to leave.” I pushed her out of the entryway and slammed the door behind her, never looking back. I wish I could say it was easy, shutting her out of my life again, but her scent still lingered in the air, my heart remaining with it.
I hoped I never had to see her again, which was now a realistic option since her brother was in jail.
Still, my heart ached for her, and for my swim buddy. There was no way Joaquín could’ve intentionally killed that stripper. Maybe he’d just gotten too rough in bed. Regardless, the reputation of our Team was now tarnished. The public was supposed to see us as heroes who rescued hostages from the ISIS, freed boat captains from pirates, assassinated leaders of terrorist regimes. Not as a bunch of sex-crazed, hard-partying hooligans with no morals. The average American citizens would be blown away if they learned the truth about our lifestyle—just last month we had rescued some kidnapped USO cheerleaders from insurgents and my boy Pat had saved his wife Annie from a sex-ring in Aruba. We worked hard, we partied harder. And no way would I ever apologize for what any of us had to do to relieve our stress. The intensity of our lives was unfathomable to most.
Even so, Mia had been it for me. I’d once found enough comfort in her touch to forget my daily burdens. But no more. I would never allow another woman to distract me from being a warrior. Plenty of girls wanted to be fucked by a Navy SEAL, some real-life hero to step off the pages of their favorite romance novel. I was now more than happy to use them the way they used me. Mia was the only woman I’d ever loved, and when she left, I’d closed my heart to anyone else.
***
I SPENT TWO DAYS SCOURING every inch of Joaquín’s apartment, but came up empty-handed. Nothing—no shady receipts, no weird email messages. Everything was clean. Too clean, as if someone had already scrubbed any evidence from the place.
I wanted to crash Tiffany’s funeral to search for clues, but I definitely didn’t want to affront her family, who would no doubt boot the sister of the man who’d murdered their beloved daughter. I skipped the service, uncertain what to do next.
Any day now, the remaining men on Joaquín’s Team could be deployed, and after that, who knew when I’d be able to see them again. I’d lost my inside connections, no Grant, no Joaquín. I had only one way to see them all.
Today I was going to head to the Pickled Frog. The bar was a dive where all the SEALs went any time one of their men had passed. The looming death toll never seemed to wane—a training accident, a downed helicopter, an embassy upheaval. I’d been to enough SEAL funerals during the two years that I dated Grant to know the drill. One by one, each man would lay down his trident, the SEAL insignia, on the deceased man’s coffin. Then they’d get wasted. Even though Joaquín was still technically alive, I was pretty sure they’d be mourning the loss of their Teammate.
The Pickled Frog was more than a watering hole; it was a safe haven for heroes. Men who needed to drown their sorrows in hard liquor, men who wanted to forget the faces of the terrorists they killed, men whose wives had cheated when they’d been deployed, men whose kids didn’t even recognize their own fathers. I shuddered, imagining all the times two years ago Grant might have sat in the seedy bar, getting hammered, trying to get over me.
I needed strength before I saw Grant again. Time to meditate. I sat on a chair in Joaquín’s apartment and straightened my spine, my feet placed firmly on the ground. Resting my hands, I turned my palms upward and prayed. I alternated my breath, from tense inhales to relaxed exhales. Focusing my attention on my spiritual eye, I uttered a quick chant and closed my practice. I needed to remain calm and centered, today more than ever.
I locked up Joaquín’s place, jumped in his truck, drove along the coast, eventually parking in an alley behind the bar. A deep sigh escaped my lips. I was sure I was the last person these men wanted to see.
When I pushed back the front door, the acidic stench of whiskey and sweat overtook me. It was two in the afternoon on a random Saturday, and the place was mostly empty. Despite being in the heart of Ocean Beach, no college coeds or surfers hung out here. This was a SEAL bar; SEALs and Frog Hogs were its only customers, though the occasional SEAL wife or girlfriend would make an appearance. But on this day, even the Frog Hogs must’ve taken the day off from their groupie duties. I was the only woman in this dump.
My feminine scent gave me away. No sooner had my heels touched the Technicolor puke-colored carpet than the heads of seven men turned toward me: Grant, Paul, Mitch, Joe, Vic, Pat, and Kyle. The seven other men on Joaquín’s eight men SEAL squad. Had they all been at the party that night?
I avoided Grant’s incredulous glance and stared at the walls, studying the pictures of fallen SEALs. So many gorgeous men. Bearded, tatted, ripped.
Gone. Dead.
Never to kiss their wives again, never to cradle their babies in their strong arms. I might as well put Joaquín’s picture on the wall. Man, this place was depressing, but it was a thousand times better than jail. Now I was the one who needed a drink.
I sat on the stool closest to the only friendly face, Kyle, who was tending bar. The gummy pleather seat clung to my thighs as he gave me a welcoming smile.
Kyle Lawson was a SEAL and former NFL linebacker; he was also the new owner of the Pickled Frog. He was gorgeous—smooth mocha-colored skin, trimmed dark beard, warm chocolate eyes. At six foot five, his body seemed sculpted by Michelangelo himself. Kyle was like a celebrity in the Teams. After he’d given up a multi-million-dollar football contract to become a SEAL, the media had hailed him a hero, even before he rescued a group of cheerleaders who were kidnapped on a USO tour. But he’d refused all interviews to the press and was as humble as any of the Team guys. “Hey, beautiful. Sorry to hear about your brother. What can I get you?”
His buddies, Pat and Vic, both gave me forced nods. These men were in Grant and Joaquín’s Team, so their loyalty must’ve been torn between their hatred of the woman who broke Grant’s heart and their protectiveness of Joaquín’s sister.
“Malibu and Coke.”
“Coming right up.”
I glanced down the bar at the other SEALs. It was like a buffet of rock hard men. My eyes watered, like I was high on the testosterone levels in this place.
Kyle placed the drink in front of me. “How’s your brother?”
“I saw him after he was arrested, and he looked horrible. Now he’s refusing my visits.” I took a sip, the warm rum coating my
throat. “Were you at that party?”
“Look, honey, I wish I could help, but Joe, Pat, Vic and I left before the strippers arrived. I’m sure you’re trying to help Joaquín, but no one is going to talk to you about that night.” He glanced at Pat and Vic. “We keep each other’s secrets to our grave.”
Kyle wasn’t kidding. Pat was married to Annie Hamilton, a famous missing American who had vanished on spring break in the Caribbean. Initially, the public was fed a story that she’d just run away, become a missionary, had a kid, then decided to return to the States. I never bought that tall tale for a second. I’d interrogated Joaquín about what he knew, but he just played dumb, until a recent news story broke. Apparently Annie and another missing American girl, Nicole, had both been kidnapped and forced into sex slavery. A Marine who recognized Nicole recently discovered her in Venezuela. She had amnesia and didn’t know who she was or what had happened to her. And a former SEAL named Dave supposedly saved Annie, though I think Pat was involved in her rescue.
I adored Pat though; he was such an amazing guy. He adopted Annie’s son, and Annie was now expecting his child. My own womb ached—had I stayed with Grant, I was sure we’d be married and we’d probably have started a family by now. But instead of celebrating a new life with my soul mate, I was trying to salvage my brother’s future.
I bit my lower lip and threw back my drink. I didn’t have a plan. I didn’t have a strategy. I didn’t have a clue what I was doing.
Here goes nothing. I pushed myself off the seat and squeezed between Paul and Mitch, to at least try to see if I could get them to admit they were at the party.
Paul resembled a young Tom Cruise—brown hair, blue eyes, dimples. He had even more arrogance than the rest of the men. As one of only a handful of second generation SEALs, he’d been bred for this life. “Mia, I’m sorry about Joaquín, but the brass has forbidden us to talk about that night.”
Conceit (Se7en Deadly SEALs Book 1) Page 2