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

shit! He’d come up here just the other week and not told me?
    I scribbled my name on the card, and she led me to the safe deposit boxes. When she placed the bank key in the lock with mine, it clicked open and she handed me the box. My heart fluttered.
    I took the box to the room, anticipated what I would find. A note? Instructions?
    I slowly opened the lid. There was a certified check made out to me for seventy-five thousand dollars. Also dated a week after the murder.
    Where did he get this money? Was this money dirty? Related to Tiffany’s death?
    A note floated out of the box. Mia, here’s the rest of Mom and Dad’s life insurance. Please spend it wisely. I love you.
    Please spend it wisely. He knew. He knew he’d be arrested. But why? How could he possibly have known? It was testimony to our close relationship that he knew he could provide the one hint that would send me here. It was also testimony to how much he loved me that he wanted to provide for me, look after me. Just as he had always done.
    The only thing I could conclude was that he was in over his head in something…I didn’t know what. His last gesture, which didn’t surprise me, was to make sure I was taken care of. It brought tears to my eyes. My heart ached.
    I emptied the safe deposit box, desperate for another clue. But it was completely barren.
    But I had other plans. I would take this money and find out the truth. I’d clear his name.
    I slammed the box shut and walked out to the teller. “I’d like to deposit this check.”
    ***

 

     
     
    THE FAINT SMELL OF CURRY, chickpeas, and fried pastry from the Afghan restaurant below wafted through my tiny apartment. A potato sambosa sounded amazing, especially washed down by a cherry blossom iced tea, but I was running late again. I’d taken leave from my college, moved out of my place, and quit my part-time job applying makeup at the MAC counter at Nordstrom, styling the drag queens in the city.
    Now, four months after Joaquín had been arrested, I was living in San Rafael, across from the San Francisco Bay. I hated isolating myself, but I couldn’t afford to make any mistakes. If Grant came looking for me, any connection to my former life had to be erased. That meant no catching the latest indie band at Bimbo’s 365 Club with my girlfriends, no hikes to Mount Tam with my old friends from high school, and no spring auditions for Marin Shakespeare Company’s summer season with my drama cohorts. Whenever I thought of my passion for theater, my chest ached. For so long, that had been my dream. Sometimes your dreams will simply remain that: a dream. It was hard not to feel sad, bereft.
    Still, I actually loved being back in my hometown of Marin—the cool, creative vibe, being amongst the musicians and artists who flocked here. But I wasn’t here to make friends, and this time I wasn’t running away from my problems. This was my BUD/S. Joaquín had undergone six months of rigorous training to become a SEAL. I was going to train just as rigorously to make sure he could keep being one.
    I threw some gel into my hair, pulled on a vintage Mötley Crüe T-shirt, and some faded jeans. It was a relief to be back home, away from the flock of picture-perfect Baywatch bitches who inhabited San Diego. I never fit in there. Not that I was doing an excellent job of blending in here, especially with my new looks, though I was doing a better job after trading Joaquín’s monstrous Ford Raptor for a Honda Accord Hybrid. The Raptor was too conspicuous among the eco-friendly Teslas, Toyota Prii, Nissan Leafs and Chevy Volts of Marin.
    Saying goodbye to Joaquín’s truck gutted me. Every time I drove it, I’d thought how it should be him behind the wheel, free from shackles, and my resolve to clear his name grew. But I had to erase any connection I had to my old life, to Joaquín, in order to go undercover and save him.
    I locked up my place, filled up a bottle of water, and hopped into my car. Today I had a