Secured by the SEAL Page 5

  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?”

  “Long Beach is far enough away from Hollywood to ensure we won’t run into anyone from the club, close enough to get you into work on time, and I heard the Italian food was good here.”

  “You seem to be in a talkative mood, so I’d better strike while the iron is hot. Is Alexei Ivanov your real name?”

  “Guilty.” He held up one hand.

  “Are you FBI, CIA, DEA?” She ticked off each acronym on her fingers. “I’ve run out.”

  “None of the above. I’m a US Navy SEAL sniper.”

  She widened her eyes. “That’s not what I expected to hear.”

  “If it makes you feel better, I’m here under the auspices of all those other agencies and more. The work I’m doing here is for a task force on terrorism.”

  Britt wiped her mouth on the napkin and took a gulp of water. This was heavier than she’d expected. “The Belkins are terrorists?”

  “Not exactly.” He flicked the side of his water glass with his fingernail and the ice tinkled. “We have reason to believe they’re working with terrorists—it wouldn’t be the first time.”

  “They’re working with terrorists and they’re sex traffickers. Anything else?”

  “I’m sure there’s more. The Belkins are a crime family. Back in Russia, criminals and terrorists are usually natural enemies. The majority of crime families are Russian, and the majority of terrorists in Russia are Chechen—no love lost there. But here?” He spread his hands.

  “Anything goes if it’s profitable?”

  “Exactly.” He tapped his head. “You’re a smart woman, Britt. It’s going to get you in trouble.”

  “Don’t worry about me.” She brushed some crumbs from her fingertips. “How do you hope to prove this link between the Belkin family and terrorists?”

  “We have to catch them in the act—meetings, payments, exchanges. If the Belkins are smuggling women into the US to work in their clubs and then trafficking them, they might also be helping the terrorists get their people into the country. If the Belkins are dealing in arms, they might be supplying those weapons to the terrorists. We only have our suspicions at this point, no proof.”

  The waiter delivered their lasagna. “Anything else?”

  They both declined, and when the waiter left, Britt pushed her plate aside and crossed her arms on the table. “And I suppose you can’t just call the LAPD or the sheriff’s department to raid the clubs.”

  “They keep everything legal on the surface. Those women at the clubs? They’re just topless dancers, nothing illegal about that. If someone is paying them for sex, the police can bust them on pandering charges, but Sergei, or rather his father, is too smart to let that happen. The women they get over here from Russia are too afraid to come forward, or they’re drugged. In a lot of cases, their families are at risk back home in Russia.”

  “Tatyana must’ve trusted Leanna enough to tell her what was going on.”

  “And put her in danger.”

  “Leanna probably encouraged Tatyana without realizing how serious it all was.”

  He aimed his fork at her food. “Are you going to eat that?”

  “I ate too much bread.” She hunched forward over her crossed arms. “If I can find some proof of the trafficking in the club, that’ll help you, right?”

  “You’re not going to find proof of that. Don’t even try, but if you can find out who Tatyana is and where she is now, that would help.” He reached out and grabbed her wrist as she pulled her plate toward her. “Discreetly.”

  “I’m a therapist. I’m the definition of discretion.”

  He released her wrist. “I’m going to be at the club tonight.”

  “Do you think that’s a good idea?” She jabbed at the thick layer of cheese smothering her lasagna, hoping that wasn’t jealousy that just flared in her chest. “A single guy at a club like that—two nights in a row?”

  “I have to start making contacts.” He plunged his fork into his lasagna. “Don’t tell me you don’t have any lonely male clients. Going to strip clubs is not exactly a social event for some men.”

  “Yeah, I guess I have a few clients who frequent nudie clubs and hooker
s.” But none of them look like you.

  “Men in town for business. Newly divorced men. All types, I’m sure.”

  Her gaze darted to the third finger of his left hand and nothing had changed. He didn’t even have a tan line there. “Has that ever been you?”

  “Going to strip clubs by myself?”

  “Newly divorced.”

  “Never married.”

  Nodding, she pressed her lips together to squash out her smile.

  “Never wanted to get married—not with the job I have.”

  Now she didn’t need to try. Her happiness at his first declaration evaporated after his second. “I’m pretty sure tons of military guys are married, even navy SEALs who are deployed. I know that for a fact since I volunteer to work with PTSD survivors.”

  “That’s admirable.” The customary tightness of his jaw relaxed, and his blue eyes almost sparkled. “I have a teammate, a friend, Miguel, who went through the wringer when he was captured by enemy forces. He’s dealing with a lot of the ramifications of his imprisonment.”

  “Is he married?”

  “Yeah, just got married. Has a son.”

  “I rest my case.”

  “You had a case? I know a lot of military men are married, but it’s not for me.”

  If she had any appetite for her meal, she’d just lost it completely. “We’d better head back up north. I don’t want to be late for my shift.”

  Ten minutes later, Britt stepped outside the restaurant and lifted her face to the sea-scented fog that had rolled in from the Pacific. She and Alexei had arrived separately again, and now she knew why as she watched him straddle a motorcycle.

  After adjusting his helmet, he lifted his hand in goodbye and roared out of the parking lot. As she watched the taillight of his bike get sucked into the fog, she straightened her spine and marched to her car.

  Whether Alexei Ivanov was marriage material or not was no concern of hers. She’d never met a man yet who wanted to stay. Why would Alexei be any different?

  * * *

  BRITT SMILED AT Jerome and then dropped her eyelashes, trying to hide the pity in her eyes. She didn’t believe for a minute that Jerome had anything to do with Leanna’s disappearance.

  Apparently, Alexei didn’t either since he’d revealed at dinner that Jerome had been honorably discharged from the army and had never been in trouble with the law. They had no reason to suspect him...but Britt still wanted to know what the scene in Leanna’s apartment meant.

  Jerome swiped the bar with a cloth for about the tenth time since she’d been standing there and glanced over his shoulder at the back of the club. “Have you seen Sergei tonight?”

  “No. Why?”

  Jerome licked his lips. “Ah, just wanted to confirm some supply orders with him.”

  Britt shrugged. “I’m sure he’ll come in later. Doesn’t he usually?”

  “Onto the floor of the club later, but he’s typically in his office before the club opens.” On his final swipe, Jerome knocked the condiment tray, and two maraschino cherries jumped from their container and rolled on the counter.

  Plucking them up by their stems, Britt dangled them close to her lips. “Can’t use these in the drinks now, right?”

  “Knock yourself out.”

  She pulled the cherries off their stems with her teeth and then spun around to continue setting up the tables.

  Jerome had better lose those jitters before he talked to Sergei and aroused his suspicions. She wished she could assure Jerome that his after-hours foray into the club last night had been wiped clean from the video footage, but she couldn’t do that without giving up Alexei.

  Jessie was the first one in again, and she helped Britt with the setup.

  As Britt handed Jessie a candle, she asked, “Have you gotten up the courage to ask Sergei for an audition yet?”

  “As a matter of fact, I asked him last night since he seemed to be in such a good mood.”

  “And?”

  “And I’m going to shake my stuff for him after closing time tonight.”

  Britt touched Jessie’s arm. “Be careful.”

  “Really?” Jessie snorted. “I can handle a guy like Sergei. Besides, Irina’s sticking around, too.”

  “That’s good.” Although she didn’t trust Irina either, Britt squeezed Jessie’s arm. Was she one of the Belkins? She’d forgotten to ask Alexei.

  “What was the name of the dancer who quit, anyway?” Britt held her breath, expecting the worst. She hadn’t wanted to ask before because she was afraid Leanna had lied to her once again about not stripping anymore.

  “The dancer who quit? They come and go.” Jessie flicked her long fingernails in the air. “I think the last one who left was Tatyana or something Russian like that. Maybe Natalya. Is that Russian? I can’t keep them straight.”

  Britt clenched her jaw to keep it from falling open. “I think it’s Russian. Why did Tatyana quit?”

  “Who knows? Left over four months ago. Scared little mouse who didn’t belong on the stage.” Jessie smoothed her skirt over her curvy hips. “You ready to have your socks knocked off, Sergei?”

  Britt froze. She didn’t have to turn around to know Sergei was right behind her. His spicy cologne invaded her nostrils, invaded her space.

  How much of their conversation had he heard?

  “I’m ready for socks to be knocked off, Jessie.” He put his hand on Britt’s shoulder and she jumped. “You ready to knock socks off, too?”

  Britt plastered a smile on her face and twisted her head over her shoulder. “I think I already told you—I’m no dancer. I prefer to be on this side of the stage.”

  “Maybe you’re right. Russians—” he snapped his fingers above his head and stomped his feet “—are natural dancers. Most of our dancers here, Russian.”

  “The Tattle-Tale Club is hardly the Bolshoi.” Britt placed her last candle on the table and felt Sergei’s stillness behind her.

  She turned to face him and a cold dread seeped into her flesh as she met his flat, dark eyes. Sergei didn’t like to be mocked.

  “I—I’m just kidding. The women I saw last night are quite good, and the guys loved them.”

  Sergei’s thin lips stretched into a smile that didn’t reach his fathomless eyes. “Tattle-Tale has only the best. Maybe not Bolshoi, but Bolshoi of topless dancers, eh?”

  Jessie poked him in the chest. “And I’m gonna show you this American girl can outdance any Russian chick. C’mon, Sergei. You’ve had a few Russian women in here who had absolutely no stage presence.”

  Britt’s face ached from the fake smile and now a pain lanced her gut as she waited for Jessie to drop the other shoe.

  “Ha! Who is that? All Tattle-Tale dancers beautiful girls.”

  “Sergei.” Jerome broke into their circle, waving some receipts. “I need to talk to you about a couple of orders.”

  “Jerome is all business. That’s what I like. You two—” he wagged his finger between Britt and Jessie “—back to work.”

  Britt didn’t breathe until she’d slammed the ladies’ room door behind her. Hunching over the sink, she stared into the mirror. Had Sergei known she and Jessie had been talking about Tatyana? Had Jerome interrupted the conversation to stop it?

  Jerome must know something about Tatyana. He’d seen Leanna’s painting of the woman.

  Maybe she and Jerome could pool their resources and help each other. He’d definitely interrupted that conversation just when Jessie was going to mention Tatyana, revealing that the two of them had been discussing her. She did not want to get on Sergei’s radar as someone interested in Tatyana. Look where it had gotten Leanna.

  The customers rolled into the club, repeat clientele and groups of men and some couples and some loners—including Alexei.

  Jessie had his table again, but Britt
would have to manage at least one visit before the night was over.

  During a particularly dead set, Britt parked herself next to the bar on Jerome’s end. She watched him retrieve a couple of bottles of beer from the fridge and then put her hand over his when he set them on her tray.

  “Jerome, do you know where that dancer Tatyana went?”

  He didn’t even meet her eyes as he poured vodka into two shot glasses. “Leave it.”

  Ducking her head close to his, she whispered, “You do know something, don’t you?”

  He cinched her wrist, his fingers damp from the vodka bottle. “Are you looking for your sister?”

  She jerked her hand away, knocking over a shot glass. “How did you know?”

  “Lee showed me your picture.” He whipped a towel from his waistband and mopped up the vodka on the tray. “You’d better hope she didn’t show anyone else.”

  “Can you help me? We can help each other.”

  “Not here.” His gaze darted to the left and right. “When the club closes, meet me in front of Rage. You know it? It’s on Sunset.”

  “I’ll find it.”

  Jerome replaced the vodka. “Keep moving.”

  Britt hoisted her tray and delivered the drinks. She’d have to get word to Alexei before he left.

  He couldn’t come with her. He wouldn’t want Jerome to ID him as anything other than a devoted fan of topless dancers.

  A short while later, Britt tapped Jessie on the shoulder. “You look busy, and I’m a little slow. Do you want me to take a couple of tables at the stage for you?”

  “That would be great. I don’t want to wear myself out before my big audition tonight.” Jessie pointed to the other side of the stage from where Alexei was sitting. “You can take those few on that side.”

  “Will do.” Britt headed to the opposite side. Let Jessie think she misunderstood her.

  She waited on the table next to Alexei’s and then sidled up next to his. She smiled and batted her lashes. “I’m meeting Jerome at some bar or club on Sunset after closing time.”