Page 8 of Deadly Sins

4

Mia

PANTHERS, SAN DIEGO’S PREMIER STRIP joint, was located in an industrial area, tucked between used-car dealerships and noodle shops. I never understood the allure of strippers; paying women to pretend that they were interested in you seemed pathetic, not flattering.

I sat in the parking lot, staring at the entrance. I didn’t want to go into the building. What was my plan? Ask the women if they’d been at the party where Tiffany was murdered? These ladies were her friends. I’d get the door slammed in my face.

I hugged my shoulders, tucking my chin into my chest. I didn’t have a clue what I was doing.

My window rattled. I looked up and saw a busty redhead in a tight sweatsuit standing by the window of Joaquín’s truck.

I opened the door.

“Honey, you okay? Is your boyfriend inside?”

I swallowed. Here I was, judging these women, yet this stripper was showing me compassion. “No. I don’t have a boyfriend. My brother used to come here.”

Her eyes narrowed, her gaze intent. “Hey, wait. You’re Mia, aren’t you? Joaquín’s sister? I knew I recognized this truck. Oh, honey, I’m so sorry. Your brother is the nicest guy. Not like his friends, especially that jackass Mitch. None of us think Joaquín killed Tiffy.”

I jumped down from the seat, my breath bottled in my chest. “You know my brother? Were you at the party? I know he didn’t do it. Can you help me exonerate him?”

She gave me a warm smile. “I was at that party. But nothing was out of the ordinary. It was just some Team guys and some girls from here. The police interviewed us all. I’ve racked my brain trying to think of something, anything that stood out. Maybe it was an accident? I’m so sorry, honey. I wish I could help.”

My mind raced. There had to be something she could tell me. Some clues to give me hope. “Which guy invited you?”

“Grant. Tall, amazing body, tattoos, blond hair, green eyes.”

I gasped and almost tripped on the cracked asphalt. “Grant Carrion? You must be mistaken. He hates strip clubs. I know—he’s my ex-boyfriend.”

She let out a laugh. “So, you’re the girl who fucked him up? Sorry to be the one to tell you, honey, but Grant’s a regular. Comes in here every Tuesday night when he’s in town. He has a thing for bleached blondes with huge tits and fake lips. We call him Ken because he’s always scouting for his newest Barbie. Shows them a good time when he’s around, deploys, then moves on to the latest model when he returns.” She gave me a sad smile. “Look, I have to go to work. My name is Emma, but my stage name is Pepper. If you have any more questions, don’t hesitate to stop in and find me. I’d be happy to help any way I can. Best of luck with your brother.”

“Thanks, Emma.” I hugged her, and she waved goodbye to me.

I got back into the truck and drove out of the parking lot.

Heat rose in my body. Could she be right? Had Grant become addicted to the strip club since I’d left him? Spending his free time here, drinking himself into oblivion, finding comfort with women who had no expectations, women who could never disappoint him the way I had?

I winced, pushing away the image of Grant getting a lap dance from some troubled woman with ragged extensions and fake tits.

But Emma had given me what I needed, what I craved.

Hope.

I now had a clue. Grant had invited the stripper. That man, who I thought I’d known everything about, was now a stranger to me. Maybe he was hiding something.

Seven Deadly SEALs—seven Achilles’ heels. I would smoke out their secrets and figure out what happened that night.