Page 7 of SEAL's Fake Girlfriend

“Yeah, let’s eat while we work. I’ve got some updates for you,” Charlie said as he grabbed his lunch with one hand and scrolled on his laptop with the other. “Rhianne, none of what I’ve discovered is going to be easy to hear, so prepare yourself.”

Her stomach clenched. “Oh no.”

“That e-mail address?” Charlie continued. “It’s cropped up a couple of times before—don’t ask me how I found out—and each time used similarly—to lure girls for job interviews, and these girls—”

“Have gone missing,” Rhianne completed, through a dry mouth. She balled her hands into fists, her nails digging into her palms.

“So we’re talking about organized crime.” Ian’s voice sounded heavy to her left. As heavy as her heart felt. “What else, Charlie?” he asked.

“I looked for any instances of bodies being found or pictures of the missing girls on brothel websites for the area, both in the States and in Mexico.” Charlie spoke to them, moving his green-eyed gaze from one to another as he did so. “Nothing came up.”

“Is that good?” Rhianne asked.

“Yes and no. Obviously, we hope all the girls are alive, but it would be nice to know where to look for them. The only thing I could find was a thread on a message board about an auction that takes place in Tijuana.” Charlie let them process that before he continued. “The poster promises ‘quality girls’—code for young virgins—and mentions a bar in the Zona Norte section of Tijuana as a contact point.”

Rhianne shook her head, wanting his words out of her ears. But she couldn’t unhear what he’d said. This horror was real, and happening on her doorstep. And her baby sister— “Where did you find this posting?” she suddenly asked. “What the hell kind of message board is that?”

Charlie blew out a sigh. “The Internet is a dark place, filled with awful things.”

He didn’t expound on that, for which Rhianne was glad—her stomach was lurching as it was. “I’ve got a contact in the FBI, if you think bringing him in is a good next move,” she said, forcing herself to think logically and not dissolve into a big ball of panic.

Charlie nodded. “We have our own, but we’ll take the details of yours too.”

“So we’re agreed that the next step is to alert the Feds?” Ian said. Everyone nodded. But then Ian added, “But we’re not handing this over to them, right?”

“And wait for them to pull their heads out of their asses?” Eric scorned. He’d been silent until then, so him speaking now made her jump. “It’s going to be quicker and probably safer if we go in ourselves and keep them updated on our progress.”

“Ourselves?” Rhianne whispered, her mouth dry. The intent way he was looking at her— “What do you mean?”

“I mean you and I attend the auction. Undercover.” He raised his voice over Charlie’s and Ian’s attempts to interrupt. “By posing as a wealthy couple looking for a ‘maid.’”

His meaning sank in and Rhianne’s mind reeled. Pretend to be his wife? “But—”

“Can you think of another way to get your sister back, quickly?” Eric demanded.

Rhianne shook her head. She couldn’t. So, as crazy as Eric’s plan sounded, it might be their best shot.

4

It was early evening when they checked into the Hotel Rio, a small hotel in the Zona Norte district of Tijuana. Rhianne had been increasingly lost in her thoughts the closer they’d gotten to Tijuana’s red-light area, a part of the north zone, so it didn’t surprise Eric much when she jumped as he draped an arm over her shoulders.

He jerked his head at the receptionist behind the counter, who might wonder why the female half of a couple would recoil from her husband’s touch. Rhianne gave a tiny nod in reply and inched closer to him. He leaned in to her nearness, her warmth, and her scent. He associated Rhianne Carlson with the metal and oil smell of the choppers she piloted, or the industrial detergent aroma of the uniform she wore, not this secret amber and woodsy scent. Interesting.Inviting.

“Enjoy your stay.” The receptionist handed over two key cards.

“We’re sure gonna try!” Eric replied, handing the woman a tip. “Oh, here, sweetie, let me…” He managed to stop Rhianne from taking her bag.

“You’re a bit too good at this,” Rhianne muttered, suspicion in her voice.

Eric laughed, pushing both their bags along the corridor. The handle of the rolling case knocked into the gold ring on his finger—he’d only put it on a few hours ago, so he wasn’t used to it yet. Rhianne had been rubbing at hers, too.

“Here. This one.” A touch of his card to the reader opened the door, and he gestured for Rhianne to enter.

Instead, she stood in the open doorway, stared inside, then back at him. He got it as soon as he nudged her over the threshold—the room had one bed. Not two singles, but one huge double.

“And there’s no other room through there?” Rhianne indicated the far door.

“Bathroom.” Eric pushed their cases against the wall. “This isn’t a suite.” He doubted the hotel had them. “Getting two rooms wouldn’t have been good for our cover, and neither would asking for a room with twin beds.”

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