Hot SEAL, Tijuana Nights Page 4

  She could eventually buy a bigger truck to drive over the border and fill it up with amazing finds. Just imagine what treasures she might discover.

  The tile guy leaning on a display shelf and scribbling with a marker on the back of a receipt drew Gabby’s attention back to reality.

  Finally, he hung up with his boss and thrust the golden ticket to designer stardom toward her. “Here you go. This is the place he buys from.”

  Hands shaking with excitement, Gabby took the key to her future success. “Thank you. Thank you so much.”

  “No problem.” He glanced at his cell. “I gotta get to a job. Good luck with the tile.”

  “Thanks.” Gabby watched him go and glanced around the store.

  With the man gone and the clerk behind the counter still looking uninterested, there wasn’t anyone for her to share her joy with.

  Gabby had to come up with something to do with all the excitement-fueled energy from scoring such an amazing tip on the tile.

  Dumpster diving for fixtures and accessories for Zach’s house might be just the thing.

  With renewed excitement, she stashed the can of polyurethane for Zach’s front doorsill on the floorboard of her car and started the engine.

  She pulled out of the parking spot and heading for the shopping center—the location of the best dumpster diving in Southern California.

  One hour later she was pulling up to her apartment with a treasure trove of finds in the back.

  A set of brand new but less than perfect shutters she’d squealed when she’d seen leaning against the dumpster behind Home Depot.

  The wooden wine box behind the liquor store was the perfect place to hide cords and electronics. With a power strip and a hole drilled in the back it would make a great charging station. With the addition of some sturdy wide fabric ribbon, she was going to create a stand for it out of the wooden snack table legs with the missing top.

  Along the curb when she’d turned into her neighborhood, she’d picked up a small wooden table with a single drawer and a nicked blonde wood finish. With light sanding and a fresh coat or two of white paint, it would look great as a nightstand in Zach’s bedroom.

  She’d even picked up a little something for herself. A set of small ornate gold frames leaning against the building behind the frame shop. They were beautiful in their own right, without any art inside. She loved the quirky idea of empty frames. Those would hang just as they were on the wall of her bedroom.

  Why the shop had tossed them, she had no idea. They weren’t even really dinged up. And even if they were, she could just paint them.

  People were silly.

  Tired, but too jazzed to sit still, she figured she’d grab something to eat at her place, then head over to Zach’s tonight to start on the table. She’d rather sand it in his garage than in her two room overstuffed apartment where the dust would settle everywhere on everything.

  That was the plan and it was a good one.

  Key in hand, she shoved it into the lock, just like she’d done a thousand times before.

  When it didn’t fit, she looked down at the keychain. She must have tried the wrong key in the lock.

  Now that she had Zach’s key as well as her own on the ring with her car key, it made sense she’d accidentally grabbed the wrong one.

  But no, that one was Zach’s and this one should be hers. She turned it the other direction. Still it didn’t fit. Then she noticed the lock on the door was shinier than usual. Almost like it was brand new . . .

  “No.” Her eyes widened as realization hit. “No, no, no, no.”

  In a panic, she fumbled for her cell and glanced at the date.

  It was already the thirtieth. Shit. How the hell had that happened? She had to be out of her apartment by the first of the month. In her mind the first was sometime next week.

  She recited the old childhood rhyme to herself. Thirty days has September, April, June—crap. April only had thirty days. The first was tomorrow, not next week.

  And double crap, the only new apartment complex she’d found that she could afford was terrible.

  That was one reason why she’d been dragging her feet about moving. She didn’t want to put down a deposit and lock into a lease for someplace crappy.

  If she could just wait another couple of weeks, until after she’d gotten paid for these two jobs, she’d have enough money to afford the deposit and first couple of months’ rent on a better place.

  All of her grand plans for monetary windfalls and nice apartments didn’t matter now, because she was locked out. And her stuff was still inside.

  Why was she locked out? The notice from the new landlord had said she had until the first. Didn’t it?

  She scrolled to the building superintendent’s number in her contact’s list.

  “Hello?” he answered.

  “Hi, it’s Gabrielle Lee. From 1B. I just came home and found the locks changed on my apartment.”

  “Yup. You had to be out by the first.”

  “And the first isn’t until tomorrow. So to me that means I have until tomorrow to get out.”

  “And to the new owner it means you should be out today by the close of business so the new renter can move in tomorrow. It’s after six p.m.. The locksmith came at five.”

  Shit. She did not need this right now. “But I didn’t move any of my stuff out yet.”

  “Then I suggest you do that,” he said without an ounce of empathy.

  “But it’s locked.” Her voice started to shake as the tears pricked behind her eyes.

  He sighed. “I have the key. I can let you in.”

  Her breath came out in a whoosh of relief. “Thank you so much.”

  “Yeah, no problem. I also got a truck and a couple of sons, if you need me to help you move your stuff out and to your new place.”

  There was still compassion and good people in the world.

  “Oh my God. That would be so amazing. Thank you.”

  “Where you moving to?” he asked.

  That question whacked down the hope that had fluttered to life and taken flight inside her. There, on the welcome mat whose sentiment mocked her, it rolled over and died a slow stuttering death.

  She didn’t have an answer to his question. She didn’t have a place to move to. She was homeless.

  Going home to her parents in Hawaii was not an option right now. How could she finish her work here if she was living there?

  She couldn’t just show up on Amanda’s doorstep tonight with an apartment’s worth of stuff and zero notice. She already owed her friend too much for getting her the two jobs.

  Thoughts of Amanda and the decorating jobs led to thoughts of Zach and his house. His empty house. With the nearly empty garage.

  Maybe she did have someplace to go after all.

  Amanda swore he wouldn’t be home early. That his return would be closer to her birthday, which was Memorial Day weekend. That gave her a solid three weeks.

  It could work. She could stash all her belongings in his garage for now while she looked for a better place.

  Hell, she could even sleep there. Who would know? She’d spent so much time in his house painting and refinishing floors, she was almost living there as it was.

  And without the time spent fighting traffic driving back and forth to her own place, she’d have extra time every day to work on the decorating jobs so she could get them done even faster.

  She could finish both jobs before he got back, get paid and move everything into her new place before he ever got back.

  She liked the idea much better than imposing on Amanda and having to admit to her friend that she’d been such a ditz she didn’t even know what day it was and had forgotten to move out.

  For better or worse, her decision was made. “La Mesa,” she finally answered.

  “Nice area,” the man commented.

  “Actually, it’s a friend’s place where I’ll be staying for a few weeks.”

  Friend. Best friend’s brother who h
ated her. Whatever.

  With any luck, no one would ever know.

  SEVEN

  It was long past dark when Zach turned his truck down the street that would lead to his house . . . or rather, his late grandmother’s house.

  His grandmother had left it to him and his sister in her will. Since Amanda was a happily married homeowner, they’d split the estate, with Zach taking the house and Amanda the rest.

  It wasn’t very far from base, and had plenty of room for him and his stuff, but he’d trade it all to have his grandmother back, alive and well while he still lived in the bachelor barracks.

  But life hadn’t given him that choice so he lived in her house, just the way she’d left it, surrounded by the memories of her and the happy times he’d spent here with her.

  It had been a long trip home from Djibouti, but home, sweet home was just a block away. He approached it with mixed emotions.

  For months he’d been with the team, twenty-four/seven. To be without them now felt like he’d lost a limb.

  To be alone with his own thoughts and the knowledge that he didn’t have to listen for a footstep behind him, or the whizz of a bullet or the shrill of a siren, was odd.

  Peace at this point was disconcerting. A little chaos would have been welcome. At least it would be familiar.

  What wasn’t familiar was the car in his driveway. Or actually, it was less car and more SUV, packed to the roof with stuff and parked in front of his house. A house where every light was on.

  What the hell?

  He slammed on the brakes and cut the lights, letting the truck idle along the curb as he stared at his house, lit up like a damn Christmas tree.

  Maybe his post deployment leave wasn’t going to be uneventful after all.

  He reached for the weapon that had been strapped to him for months and found it missing.

  It was back on base, locked up with the rest of his kit. All he had with him was a duffle bag filled with dirty laundry.

  He spun to look behind him. He hadn’t been in this truck in months. He’d left it parked on base and had one of the guys who was stateside start it up and run the engine every once in a while. But he must have something inside to use as a weapon—

  Ah ha! His golf bag was behind him. Perfect. He cut the engine and released the seatbelt.

  Twisting in the seat he pulled out a driver and then thought better of it. That club was too lightweight. He slid the driver back in and pulled out the seven iron.

  The seven iron was without a doubt the most all around useful club in the game of golf and, in a pinch, for impromptu home defense.

  Armed and ready, he slid the switch on the overhead dome light to off so it wouldn’t illuminate and then he opened the door, slipping out of the truck and into the darkness.

  The thief was either incredibly stupid or insanely brazen. Zach didn’t know which but the guy had backed his SUV right up to the garage, like he owned the place.

  What Zach did know was that the burglar had already hit another house before his. One glance at the contents of the overstuffed vehicle with the flashlight he always had with him told Zach this wasn’t his stuff.

  Where the hell did the robber think he was going to fit anything else? Not that Zach had anything in the house to steal anyway. Anything valuable—his equipment, his weapons—were locked up on base. What was left in the house had only sentimental value because it had belonged to his grandmother.

  Okay, he had made one major purchase when he’d moved it. A sixty-inch flat screen television. Easily enough replaced, yes, but that wasn’t the point. God help the burglar if he’d messed with Zach’s favorite new toy.

  If he got a hold of the thief, the guy would be getting a taste of the swing that had yielded him a hole-in-one a few years ago at the Sea n' Air Golf Course on the North Island Naval Air Station.

  And shit—the ball he’d done it with was in this house too, sitting on the bookcase in front of his grandmother’s old books.

  The TV and the golf ball. That made two things the robber—who was about to have a headache when Zach got through with him—had better not have touched.

  And crap, the scorecard from that game with the other guys’ signatures on it was in there too.

  Okay. That made three things—scorecard, ball, TV.

  As Zach’s mental list of his most valuable worldly possessions slowly expanded, he pressed himself up against the wall of the house, sliding along the foundation as silently as he could while trying to avoid the scrubby shrubs growing there.

  Make that the prickly scrubby shrubs.

  What the hell? Were those thorns on that damn bush? It had never flowered, as far as he knew, so why the fuck was this prickly thing planted here?

  As the shrub grabbed onto Zach’s cargo shorts and legs, tearing at both the fabric of his clothes and his skin, he cursed himself for not having taken more of an interest in the landscaping.

  He certainly would now, once this takedown was over.

  In fact, he was on leave. He’d already checked in at base and the next couple of weeks were his own. Gardening hadn’t been on the agenda but he could squeeze in taking a machete to this damn killer plant.

  A woman’s voice halted both his thoughts and his movement. From his place outside the open bathroom window he heard clearly the sound of the water running in the shower and a woman singing.

  He knew the window had been closed and locked when he’d left for Djibouti months ago. It should still be locked unless Amanda had been by and opened the windows for some reason—

  Amanda.

  Was it his sister who’d parked in his driveway and was singing in his bathroom? And what the hell was that she was singing, anyway?

  Was that a Disney song? It sure had that unmistakable sound to it.

  Zach had a sudden recollection from his childhood of Amanda seated in front of the television with a DVD in the player, singing along at the top of her lungs to some animated film.

  Yup, it had to be Amanda inside.

  Her singing sounded a lot better today than it had back then, when she’d bellowed along, dressed in a pastel frilly dress pretending she was the princess on screen.

  With a sigh, he relaxed, falling out of SEAL mode and into annoyed brother mode instead.

  Why was she here and showering at his house, and with a strange vehicle filled with a butt load of stuff?

  Shit. Had something bad happened between her and her husband? He liked Jasper. He’d hate to have to kill his brother-in-law for hurting his sister.

  Loosening his grip on the club, he reached into his pocket and drew out his house key. Opening the front door, he stepped inside.

  Intruder-scare aside, it felt good to be home in the land of free flowing Big Macs and reliable WiFi. Not to mention private bathrooms—which he was going to have again as soon as he determined why the fuck his sister was in his and got her out of it.

  Zach leaned the golf club in the corner of the front hallway and looked around. Why did it smell like paint? That question was soon answered when he noticed the walls.

  Why the fuck was the hallway a different color? And where was the carpet? He frowned down at the shiny wooden floors before his gaze moved on to the living room.

  Where was the furniture? And where the fuck was his TV?

  He might actually have felt better thinking he had been robbed. At least that was something he could get angry about. But this—this was worse because he had a strong suspicion about what was really going on here.

  Amanda must have suggested a dozen times that he redecorate. He’d always said no. Then he’d deployed, leaving his nosy, annoying, untrustworthy sister alone for months with his spare house key.

  Jaw clenched, he stomped across the gleaming wood of the empty living room and down the hallway. He resisted the urge to kick in the bathroom door and instead flung it wide with a force that sent it crashing against the wall.

  “What the fuck did you do to my house?”

  The blo
od curdling scream that came from behind the new shower curtain gave him a moderate sense of satisfaction.

  Good. He was glad he’d startled her, because she sure as hell had surprised him.

  “I swear, Amanda. I told you I liked my house just the way it was—”

  “Zach. It’s not Amanda.” The tiny voice from behind the curtain halted his rant.

  Brows drawn low, he reached for his cell phone to call the police.

  Not that he thought he couldn’t take whoever was in that shower stall, but more because he wanted witnesses for his own sake. A woman who would break into a man’s house to take a shower might not stop there. What was to stop her from claiming Zach attacked her?

  But wait. She’d called him by name, so he obviously knew her. Or at least, she knew him. With the screen unlocked and his fingers poised to dial nine-one-one, Zach said, “Who are you?”

  “It’s Gabby.”

  He was wondering who the fuck this Gabby could be, racking his brain for some memory of a long forgotten hook-up who could have gotten a hold of a copy of his house key, when she pulled back just the top of the curtain, while clutching the bottom closed.

  She zeroed in on his frown and continued, “Amanda’s friend. From college.”

  The dark hair. The big brown eyes. The oh shit expression on her face. It all brought the memory of the first time he’d set eyes on her back to him.

  They’d played out this scene together before, only last time he’d been on the other side of that curtain.

  “What are you doing in my house?” He lowered the cell phone, but didn’t put it away.

  His next call was going to be to his sister to tell her to get the hell down here and get her insane friend out of his shower.

  He’d only seen this girl—now a woman—a handful of times since that first meeting.

  Somehow Amanda hadn’t outgrown her college friend and Gabby, like a bad penny, kept turning up at occasional major events in Amanda’s life that they both attended. He usually managed to stay out of her way, and she out of his.

  He’d get through the party or family barbecue or whatever it was by ignoring her. He couldn’t ignore her now. And he was still waiting for an answer.