Carol Ericson - Alpha Bravo Seal

But none of the rich girls he knew would step one foot in Somalia, or any other part of Africa, or Central America, or any of the other places Nicole had been to tell a story.

She slipped into the slim black blazer that skimmed the top of her hips and ducked beneath the strap of a small black purse that hung across her body.

“All set.”

Leo was off duty, so the doorman with the second shift called a taxi for them, and Slade gave him the name of his hotel. When they got out of the taxi and made their way through the revolving door, Nicole turned to him.

“I’ll just wait for you down here at the bar. Take your time.”

“I won’t be long.” He strode toward the bank of elevators with disappointment stabbing his gut. Had he seemed too anxious to get her alone in his hotel room? He punched the button to call the car.

She had the right idea. They’d just met this morning—hardly enough time to be showering and changing in each other’s presence. At her mother’s place, a massive staircase and several rooms had been between them when Nicole had changed. He hadn’t even heard the shower. Yeah, way too intimate too quickly.

Even though he had saved her life.

He raced through the shower and mimicked her outfit with dark jeans, a black T-shirt and black motorcycle boots. He grabbed a black leather jacket on his way out of the room.

When he spotted her in the lobby bar, she was chatting with the bartender over a glass of red wine. She had one of those personalities that got people talking—necessary in her line of work, completely unnecessary in his.

He started forward, navigating through the small tables, already beginning to fill up for happy hour. He perched on the stool next to hers and tapped her wineglass. “Do you want to finish that before we find dinner?”

“I could if you’ll join me.” She drew her brows over her nose in a V. “That is if you can join me. Are you on duty or something?”

“I’m not a cop.” He nodded to the bartender, who rushed over. “I’ll have what she’s having.”

She swirled the ruby liquid in her glass. “It’s just the house merlot.”

“Sounds good to me.”

As she held her glass to her lips, she studied him over the rim. “What is your function? I’ve never heard of the US military operating stateside.”

“Some do on occasion, but this is a special assignment. Off the radar, off the books.”

“So, if one of the other snipers had shot the pirate who was holding me, would he be here instead of you? Is that how the Navy made the determination?”

“I’m not exactly sure. They called. I responded.” The bartender had placed his glass of wine in front of him, and he clinked it against hers. “That’s how the military works.”

They finished their wine over casual chatter and then walked a few blocks to a small bistro, where Nicole had a second glass of red.

At the end of dinner, she pinged her fingernail against her empty glass. “I hope I’m not going to be required to hop on a bike and chase someone down this time. I’m ready for a nap.”

“Uh-oh. How are you ever going to stay awake for the play?”

“Wake me up when it’s over.”

They took another taxi to the gallery on West Twenty-Fourth Street, and Slade discovered this was Nicole’s preferred method of transportation around the city. Her mother kept a car service on call, but Nicole had confided that she didn’t like the ostentatiousness of it all, even though she seemed comfortable with most of the perks her father’s wealth provided. He supposed she had to draw the line somewhere.

Fifteen minutes later, they sauntered into the gallery, a small space crammed with sculptures. Nicole saw Andre immediately and elbowed Slade in the ribs.

They feigned interest in some god-awful piece while Andre talked to a couple. When he was done, they wandered toward him until Nicole planted herself in front of him.

“Andre Vincent, right?”

“That’s right.” His smile dimmed a fraction as he looked into Nicole’s eyes. “You’re Lars’s friend. The one he went to Somalia with to make that film.”

“Did you hear about Lars?”

“I did, yeah. Shocking news.”

“Did you see Lars when he was in the city?”

“I missed him, and now I’m sorry I did.” His gaze shifted to Slade.

“This is my friend Slade.”

They shook hands, and as far as Slade could tell, Andre wasn’t lying about not seeing Lars. At least, he hadn’t taken off in a sprint like Dave had.

Andre stroked his beard. “Was there something you wanted to ask me about Lars?”

“He left a note for me when he was in New York and gave it to someone to mail to me later.” Nicole lifted her shoulders. “I was just trying to figure out who that was.”

“You checked with Dave Pullman or that actress, Trudy? I don’t remember her last name, but I think they saw him when he was in town.”

“We checked with Dave, and we’re on our way to see Trudy Waxman.”

Andre snapped his fingers. “Waxman, that’s it. Yeah, I’m sorry. That’s crazy Lars would do that. No clue he was even depressed.”

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