Secured by the SEAL Page 2

  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

  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.