Protected by a SEAL: Hot SEALs (Volume 5) (2 page)

“She’s doing your laundry now?”

Chris lifted one shoulder and grinned. “What can I say? I’m not gonna tell her no.”

Rick shook his head at the domestic bliss surrounding him. It was enough to make a man barf.

“You know . . . “ Chris began the sentence in a tone Rick recognized well. A lecture was coming and he wasn’t sure he wanted to hear it. Unfortunately, there was usually no way to stop the southern ramblings of Chris Cassidy once they began.

Rick sighed and angled himself to face Chris better. “Yes?”

“I know what’s eating you.”

“Oh, do you? And what’s that?” Rick asked, interested to hear the answer.

“You’re missing the action.”

Rick let out a huff. “You think? You mean you don’t believe sitting in front of a bank of security monitors day and night is stimulating enough for me?”

“Unless there’s some terrorists sneaking around that job of yours, looking to blow up the nuclear reactor and half the state with it, no. There’s not. It’s getting to you. Believe me, I know what it’s like to be running on adrenaline and energy drinks one day and sunk into the sofa looking for something that won’t make you want to blow your brains out on TV the next.”

“There’s one big difference though.”

“What’s that?” Chris asked.

“You chose to retire. Getting out wasn’t exactly my choice.”

His knee blowing out during a training exercise, the realization that he’d have compromised the safety of the team if it had happened on an op, and the Navy medically retiring him had all led to Rick’s current situation.

Chris drew in a breath, clearly about to say something when Darci came back down the hall. “Sorry I took so long. I decided to change clothes quick.”

Like the gentleman he always was, Chris turned his full attention away from Rick and on to Darci. “And you look real pretty, darlin’.” He took the keys she held out and glanced at Rick. “We’ll be back in a few.”

As he grabbed Darci’s hand to lead the way to the front door, she glanced back. “Get the plates and forks out of the dishwasher? They’re all clean.”

“Yeah. Okay.“

This was his life now. He’d gone from cleansing the world of terrorism, to unloading the clean dishes. His biggest battle nowadays was against his sister for control of the television remote.

Chris was right. Rick missed the action. More than he’d ever imagined.

He had some thinking to do. As he stood and felt the twinge in his left knee, he wondered if that life was even possible for him anymore.

CHAPTER 2

SIERRA COX

That was the only thing written on the envelope on the dressing table in her trailer on the studio lot.

No stamp. No return address. No address at all. Just her name, written in black marker in big block letters.

Sierra glanced from the large manila envelope to her manager. “Roger, did you put this here?”

“Put what where?” The thirty-something year old blond man, who was pretty enough he should be in front of the camera rather than behind it managing her, looked up from his cell phone.

Roger Herndon would be a real lady killer if his preference didn’t run toward the male gender. That still didn’t prevent women from throwing themselves at him at every event and party.

“This envelope.” She turned away from her dressing table to face Roger head on.

Lifting his eyebrows, Roger shook his head. “Wasn’t me. I’ve never seen that envelope before. Must have been someone else.”

“Who?”

He lifted one shoulder. “Any number of people could have dropped it there, I suppose.”

Sierra frowned. The idea that any number of people were wandering through her trailer on the movie lot wasn’t reassuring. During filming she spent more time here than anywhere else. It was her home away from home.

She didn’t welcome any invasion of her privacy at any time, but knowing someone had been in her private domain when she hadn’t been there felt even worse. “We need to lock that door whenever I’m not here.”

“Amy has to come in to stock your fridge every day.”

“We’ll give her a key.” It wasn’t the intern she was worried about. It was that apparently anyone could come and go as they pleased.

“What if there’s an updated script the director needs you to look over?” Roger asked.

“Maybe we need to install a mail slot for things like that.” She shot him a look that she hoped said victory was hers.

“May I point out that if you had a mail slot, that mysterious envelope that has apparently disturbed you would still be inside your trailer and freaking you out?”

“Yes, but the person who brought it here wouldn’t have been.”
 

“Fine. Mail slot aside, there’s also staff who comes in to clean when you’re not around. Or did you think fairies emptied your garbage and scrubbed your toilet?”

“Very funny.” Sierra wrinkled her nose at him and wondered why she put up with his crap.

Possibly because Roger was the one person in the world she trusted. Even her parents had lost that privilege when they’d mismanaged her finances to a criminal degree when she’d still been a minor.

But part of the reason she trusted Roger was that he wasn’t a yes-man. For better or worse, he told her exactly how things stood, whether she liked what she heard or not.

“So, aren’t you going to open it?” Roger took a step closer, his eyes focused on the object in question.

There was something about the seemingly innocuous envelope that had her inner voice shouting and put her on edge. “You go ahead if you want.”

 
“All right.” His gaze cut to her before he reached for it. He slipped one finger under the adhesive flap.

Watching him, Sierra hissed in a breath. “Be careful. Don’t get a paper cut.”

“I assure you, I’ll survive.”

“Go ahead and joke, but I’m serious, Roger. You don’t know who that’s from or what’s inside. It could be—I don’t know—anthrax or something.”

He paused in his opening, but obviously not because he shared her concern, judging by his snicker. “Why in the world would there be anthrax in here?”

“I don’t know. There are lunatics everywhere.” There was something making her gut twist and she didn’t know why. She only knew that the feeling started when she first saw that envelope on her dressing table.

“Not that I have personal experience, but I don’t think anthrax is quite this heavy.” He weighed the envelope in his hand. “Most likely, we’re good.”

He was teasing her, but Sierra still didn’t let herself relax. She knew she wouldn’t be able to breathe freely again until she saw what was inside.

A wrinkle formed between Roger’s brows as he glanced up. He must have finally taken her concern seriously. “You really are worried.”

She opened her eyes wider. “Yes. That’s what I’ve been trying to tell you.”

“But why?”

“The whole thing is weird. That just appears out of nowhere with nothing but my name written like . . . like . . . ”

“Like what?” He looked down at the envelope again.

“Like a ransom note.”

He cocked one brow. “I believe ransom notes are usually made from individual letters cut out of magazines. This, as you saw, is hand written.”

Sierra let out a huff. “You’re right. It’s much more like a serial killer would write it than a kidnapper.”

Roger rolled his eyes. “You’ve been watching too many movies. I’m opening it and putting this whole ridiculous discussion to rest. It’s probably proofs from last week’s photo shoot. Or a copy of that interview you gave Vanity Fair.”

She didn’t remind him that both of those things would likely come by email, not in a creepy envelope. Crossing her arms, she waited for whatever mysteries hid within the manila to be revealed.

As Roger again slid his finger between the flap and the envelope, she took a single step back. He leveled a glare at her. “Is that extra foot of separation going to save you from the anthrax?”

She pulled her mouth to the side, annoyed with his smart ass comment. “It might.”

Roger peeked inside the envelope. As his grin at her expense disappeared the feeling of doom riding her doubled. “What’s wrong?”

He pulled out a stack of papers before he glanced up. “Um, it’s probably nothing.”

The blood draining from his face as he flipped through the pages didn’t back up that statement.

“Roger . . .” Sierra took a step forward. “Let me see.”

He pressed his lips together and hesitated before he drew in a breath. He held out the stack toward her, still looking reluctant to hand over what the ominous envelope held.

She closed the space between them with a few steps and took the papers, her hand shaking as she did so.
 
Turning them toward her she saw what looked like digital photos printed out on computer paper. One of her out for her daily run. Another of her getting into her car outside the hair salon. She recognized the outfit she was wearing in that photo. It had to be taken just last week when she’d gotten her highlights touched up.

“They could have been taken by paparazzi.” At Roger’s suggestion, Sierra glanced up.

“How did he get inside to deliver it?” she asked.

“Maybe the envelope was dropped off at the front gate of the lot and one of the crew brought it here.”

The paparazzi theory would have made sense except for the next picture Sierra saw in the stack. It was of her inside her hotel room, sitting at the table eating. Heart pounding, she held it up for Roger. “How’d they take this one?”

He looked from the picture to her. “Through your hotel room window with a zoom lens?”

The moment she got to her hotel she was closing the blackout curtains and not opening them again for the duration of her stay.

The thought of spending the night alone in her suite, knowing someone was watching her, was frightening. Maybe she could convince Roger to sleep on the sofa in the living room of the suite. Hell, he could sleep in the bed with her if it meant she didn’t have to sleep there alone. Not that she’d get any sleep after this.

The question still remained, more than how the pictures were taken, was why? And why deliver them to her here and now?

Afraid of what else she would find, Sierra warily looked at the next page in the stack.

It was different. There was another photo of her—this time smiling at someone she couldn’t see in the frame of the picture—but this one had words scrawled across it in what looked like the same black marker as the envelope.

What she read had her blood running cold.

You can’t see me but I can see you.

The room seemed to sway as the darkness crept around the edges of her vision, narrowing her sight to just the dressing table in front of her. Sierra reached out to steady herself, letting the papers scatter onto the surface.

“Sierra.” Roger was next to her in a split second, holding her upright with a strength that belied his trim build.

She swallowed hard and struggled to slow her breathing. “I’m all right.”

He let out a breath. “No. None of this is all right and I’m going to take care of it right now.”

“What can you do?”

“First, get you sitting down before you fall down.”

“I’m fine.”
 

“Sit anyway.”

The dizziness had passed, which was a miracle considering her pulse rushed so loudly in her ears she could barely hear Roger. But she was shaking and sitting wouldn’t be a bad thing. She did as told and eased into the chair.

She glanced up and caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror. The wild-eyed fear she saw was not at all comforting. Sierra turned in the chair to face toward Roger and away from the reflection of the frightened woman who looked nothing like her.

Acting calmer than she felt, she asked, “What do we do?”

He already had his cell phone out. “We hire security.”

The studio lot had security. The hotel had security. Obviously none of that had worked, so Roger must mean something else. More personal. “Like a bodyguard?”