Jackson
“What’s her problem?” Duck asks through the headset.
Chelsea isn’t wired in and doesn’t hear the question, so there’s no danger in answering. “I guess I am. No, I didn’t do anything to her, and no, I don’t want to talk about it.”
Because he can’t help himself, Duck stretches out his leg and kicks Chelsea’s foot. She turns from the window to look his way, and he opens his pack. Chelsea’s belt, shirt, and vest are packed neatly on top, and he hands them to her.
Chelsea accepts her things with a grateful smile and pulls the shirt over her head. The remainder of her gear rests across her lap, and she sits back again, content to stare out the window at the night sky.
With Chelsea’s gaze elsewhere again, Duck teases, “Guess you’re right. She only hates you.”
“Oh, thanks,” I sneer. “Asshole,” I add, grumbling.
The helo delivers us to Novo Selo Range, a military base operated by NATO Forces. The rest of the team is already there, waiting by a C-17 piloted by Commander Charli Myers, Bandaid’s wife. “Looks like you guys had an interesting night,” she drawls in her lowcountry accent.
Bandaid sidles up to his wife and snickers. “You have no idea.”
Charli winks at him and studies the PMCs. I realize she’s likely never met them before, but she doesn’t question them tagging along on the ride home. “Introductions later. Let’s get you back stateside. Your boss can pick you up from Oceana.”
The flight is about twelve hours long and should land at about five a.m. local time. I expect the team to sleep for the majority of the flight.
The thirty-two operatives board the plane, randomly picking out jump seats for the long trip. Chelsea dives for a seat between two of her teammates, elbowing each one when they groan playfully at her.
The move was likely so she could avoid further interaction with me. What rubs is that she seems so comfortable with her teammates and even mine. It pisses me off even more that I care. I told Fish that because Chelsea wasn’t interested, I wasn’t interested. Aaand that was a load of bullshit.
I pick a seat away from the others and wave off Duck when he approaches. The SEAL medic glances toward Chelsea and back before winking. Great. I’ll never hear the end of this. SEALs gossip like little girls.
After takeoff, the chatter in the plane lessens as people settle in to get some sleep. I’m still wired from my body’s reaction to teasing Chelsea and have no hopes of nodding off any time soon.
Knowing I shouldn’t but doing it anyway, I subtly observe the PMCs. Correction. I study how Chelsea and the other contractors interact with one another. They resemble a family, supporting and teasing one another like my platoon. The men and women working for Knot obviously share a great respect for each other, even with the near-constant ribbing. Also like my team.
Chelsea’s reaction to my men now looks very different from that night she ran into us at the bar. Come to think of it, she talks, jokes, and laughs with everyone but me. Chelsea only seizes up and wields her wicked sarcasm when I’m near.
Damn. I guess she does hate…
Movement to my left catches my attention. Aaron, one of Knot’s team leaders, sits next to Sadie. She elbows him, and he thumps her ear right before placing a rolled-up shirt against his shoulder. Sadie leans against the former Marine Raider, and he rests his chin on her head.
Well, I’ll be damned. That’s it. Chelsea only fights me. I almost laugh. Thirty-seven years old, and I’m reduced to flirting like a kindergartner. I know just how to handle that.
Smiling to myself, I huddle against my bag and close my eyes to sleep.
A kick to my boots jolts me out of my heavy slumber. Surprisingly, I’ve slept through the rest of the flight and landing, a testament to Charli’s skill as a pilot. I look up into the face of my commander. “Welcome back, sailor.”
I push out of the seat and come to attention. “Sir.”
“Stand easy.”
Knot stands next to O’Reilly, and after the mission crew gathers their packs and civilian bags, the two men lead us to an empty hangar to debrief. “Your mission was a success,” Knot announces. “The CIA has already interviewed the failed ambush team and gotten the proof needed to prove conspiracy against private military organizations. While they don’t have any information about who’s behind the effort, the investigation is just beginning.”
O’Reilly says, “You’ve done good work here. PMCs across the country owe you their gratitude, though they can never offer it. As far as you’re concerned, this mission is classified. Speak of it to no one for your protection and in case this team is needed again.”
“Our identities, at least the SEALs, were included in the mission file,” I point out.
The two warhorses grin at one another. “According to Admiral Jameson, the mission, set to be completed by DevGru, was scrubbed. Your involvement was never mentioned.”
That sneaky son of a bitch. That the admiral went through so much trouble to keep mission details a secret is impressive. I won’t deny it scares me to think his effort was necessary.
“So, since there was no mission and you weren’t just in Bulgaria, no debrief is needed.”
O’Reilly wraps up the informal meeting. “Let’s get the hell out of here. I’ve got choppers waiting. We’ll give you a lift back to Knot Corp.”
All of us migrate toward the helipads. Seeing Chelsea approach the first one, I jog in that direction, only to see several of my platoon do the same. By the time I reach the bird, Fish loads in, filling the last spot. Chelsea gives me a little wave, and with a wink, Fish shuts the door in my face, leaving me with no choice but to ride in one of the other helos.
So. Chelsea wants to make this battle public? Bring it on.
I end up riding to Norfolk with Bandaid and Skin, along with several PMCs, including Sadie and Aaron. The rotor engine starts, and Skin smacks my arm. “So, how’s_”
Bandaid slaps the younger man on the back of the head. “You never learn, do you? Do not bug a man about his woman.”
The second we touch down, I rip open the door and look for Chelsea. The rising sun is just beginning to color the sky, so I search the parking lot using the security lights. I spot Chelsea quickly and sling my bag straps over my shoulder. I’m hoofing it toward her in the next breath and don’t even care who notices. “Danforth!”
She’s nearly to a silver Honda when I catch up to her. Chelsea glances around, gauging our audience. Unfortunately for her, I don’t particularly care who witnesses this confrontation.
Chelsea reluctantly turns when I reach her, and her mask slips into place. “Yes, lieutenant?”
“What are your plans for today?”
“Oh, I have to practice my Oscar acceptance speech. I did give one hell of a performance yesterday.”
I shouldn’t be surprised by her smart mouth. I respond, not hiding my disappointment. “Will we ever get past this?”
Chelsea rolls her eyes. “I’m sorry you don’t approve of my personality.”
I reach for her hand, surprised when she doesn’t recoil. This is only the second time I’ve touched her, and I’m already addicted. Ignoring the urge to stroke her cheek, I say, “There’s nothing wrong with you being a comic. Or a smartass even. Just… Do you ever turn off the sarcasm and jokes?”
She doesn’t answer, telling me I’ve hit a nerve. “Chelsea, I’m not attacking you. I just want to talk without the smokescreen. Be real. Please.”
Chelsea looks at her feet as every bit of her bravado drains from her body. “I…can’t.”
“You can. You know I’m chasing you. I’ll stop if you ask, but I need to hear it. Tell me straight. Don’t play games with me, and don’t be amusing.”
“I have to be amusing,” she whispers as if she hadn’t meant to say the words.
Too bad. I heard them and can’t let them go. The SEALs in the choppers are ready to go home, but they can wait. Chelsea turns to leave, but I refuse to release her hand. “Why?”
Her silence stretches for a long moment. I reach out to lift her chin with my free hand, but she jerks away. I break a dozen personal rules when I yank her against me and forcibly tip her face upward. “Chelsea, why do you have to be amusing?”
The sun’s first light flickers in shame-filled eyes. Still, she won’t look at me. “When you grow up the fat kid, you learn real fast to be entertaining and accommodating or else you become the punchline.”
“No, you learn how to hide instead of making people accept you for who you are.”
Now, Chelsea looks at me. With eyes on fire, she cools her expression and taunts. “Thanks, Freud. I’m cured. Send me your bill.”
Chelsea breaks free and spins away, but I rush around her, meeting her face-to-face again. “You’re still doing it. Despite all that you’ve become and accomplished, you’re still hiding. I understand now.”
“You understand nothing. You don’t know me,” she snaps.
I crowd her, bending until we’re nose to nose. “I know plenty. You’re so used to hiding your feelings that real emotions scare you. The more you feel, the more you clown around. And baby, you joke the loudest when you’re around me.”
Her eyes widen, and I can practically hear the wheels of her mind turning, analyzing every encounter we’ve had. The horror on her face confirms her worst nightmare. Still, she brushes me off. “Nah. You justifying my actions just means you’re having trouble with rejection. That’s all.”
Laughter bubbles up from my gut, throwing Chelsea off balance. “That’s cute. You’re playing fast and loose with the whole rejection claim, considering how you reacted to me in that truck.”
Chelsea’s eyes narrow, but she’s all out of points to refute what I’m saying. That’s proof enough for me. “Give me your phone,” I command.
“What? Why?”
Holding out my hand, I repeat the order. “Give me your phone, Chelsea.”
The woman clenches her jaw but shocks the hell out of me when she yanks the device from her bag, unlocks it, and drops it into my hand.
“Good girl,” I purr.
Her eyes narrow as if she’s thinking about taking the phone back. I pull away so she can’t and set things up, finishing by sending myself a text from her number. She can delete me from her contacts, but I have her number now. And she won’t block me.
Without a word, I return Chelsea’s phone, and she storms away, just as mute.