Conceit (Se7en Deadly SEALs Book 1) Read Online Free PDF

being desperate for sleep, I climbed into his truck—my truck now—and headed over the Golden Gate Bridge toward Mt. Tamalpais. It was a clear day; San Francisco’s famous fog seemed to have cleared the way for this mission. The winding hills through Mill Valley reminded me of the weekend adventures Joaquín and I had gone on with our parents.
    Mt. Tam was more than a mountain to me—it was a sacred place, a vortex of energy. Grant and Joaquín never missed an opportunity to tease me about my spiritual beliefs. I was raised Catholic, but after my parents died, I’d become deeply spiritual. I, practiced yoga, became a vegan, attended Kirtan chants, and meditated. My dedication only grew stronger after I’d left Grant. For me, my spirituality was a way to center myself, develop a personal relationship with God, and feel closer to my parents.
    As the Raptor approached our favorite trailhead, my breathing slowed and a memory took hold of me.
    “Let’s do a time capsule!”
    Joaquín, a skinny boy around age twelve with a devilish grin, led me down the trail. Our parents slowly lagged in the distance. Always the Boy Scout, Joaquín took a Swiss Army knife from his pocket and notched a hole at the base of a tree.
    “Give me your bracelets.”
    I shoved the candy-colored beaded bracelets off my wrist and handed them to him without a second thought. A big deal, considering at age eleven, those tacky things were my prized possessions.
    Joaquín’s eyes twinkled. He loved going on adventures, and I was always his right-hand girl. Most brothers and sisters fought, but we were truly best friends.
    He took a small leather pouch out of his back pocket. “This was made by the Miwok Indians.” He slipped his Swiss Army knife inside, wrapped in my bracelets, reached deep between the roots of the tree, and dropped the pouch inside.
    “One day, when we’re older, we’ll come back here and find our treasures.”
    I thought it was stupid, but I would never tell him that. I just hugged him, and we ran off toward the voices of our parents.
    Centering myself back in present day, my feet touched the damp soil. I closed my eyes, and I could hear my parents’ voices calling us. “Mia, Joaquín. Where are you two?”
    The voices became quieter in my head and I found the tree. Eleven years later, the old oak had seen better days, but it still stood, leaves gathered at the base.
    I knelt beside the trunk, my hand wrestling with the soil, which was surprisingly loose, like it had been disturbed not long ago. Digging, faster, furious. It had to be in here. I’d all about given up, when my fingers touched something smooth. I reached down and grabbed… the pouch!
    I tore it open, now weathered with dirt and rain. My bracelets flew out, but instead of Joaquín’s knife, I found a small wooden box.
    He’d been back here?
    The box was new. When had he come up here? He hadn’t visited me in at least a year.
    I flipped the box open, and inside was a small key and a dog tag. I pulled the dog tag to me and squinted at the etched number. WF #1459.
    WF—Wells Fargo? I examined the plain key. It looked like the safe deposit box key from our bank. Joaquín and I had opened this box for my mom’s jewelry once I turned eighteen but I’d forgotten all about it. I had my own key somewhere back at my place, but I would’ve never thought to look in the box.
    My jaw dropped. I knew he hadn’t killed Tiffany. He must’ve known something was going down. Joaquín was so smart he had planned to send me on this chase. He believed in me and knew I could save him.
    My watch read four thirteen. The bank was open until six. I stuffed the dirty pouch into my pocket, raced back to the truck, and sped down the hill.
    After stewing for twenty-five minutes in traffic, I reached the bank. I handed the teller the key, she asked for my ID, and handed me the signature card.
    Joaquín’s name was signed above mine; the date entered was a week after the murder.
    Holy