Jackson
“You’re right. I’m a fucking idiot.”
Bastien scoffs but shows no mercy. “Couldn’t have said it better myself. I may not have seen Chelsea’s mask, but only because I chose to accept the person she presented to the world. And she’s never given me a reason to doubt her. What’s your excuse?”
Shit. “I messed this up. I’ve got to get out of here.”
I shove past my friend, who hurls a warning for me to leave Chelsea alone as I race out the door. If Chelsea wants me to fuck off, I will, but not until I make things right. I jump in my truck and drive out of Bastien’s reach, ending up in a nearby movie theatre parking lot. My place is fifteen minutes from here, but I don’t want to wait that long.
My phone is out as soon as I stop. I open the message I’d sent from Chelsea’s phone, and after a short deliberation, I peck out what I want to say.
I’m sorry. I never intended to suggest you need to be fixed. I failed to consider that you probably haven’t felt safe enough with anyone to let your guard down. You need to be around people who will accept and appreciate who you are, good and bad. I hate that I made you believe I couldn’t be someone like that.
Stopping short of asking for a second chance, I send the message before I can overthink what I said. Part of me wants to stay here and wait for a reply, but I don’t expect one tonight, nor do I deserve one.
Captain waits in the foyer, tail wagging, when I open my front door. “Hey, girl.”
I drop to a knee to pet the happy boxer. “I may need you to help me like you helped Caleb. I suck at women.”
Her furry black face tilts sideways. “You’re biased,” I tell her, standing.
I take Captain out before bedding down for the night. The last thing I do before turning out the light is check my phone one last time. My message to Chelsea shows read. Sighing, I turn out the light. At least she saw it.
Duck emerges from the ocean ahead of me and the rest of our squad. This shit isn’t getting any easier, but at least it’s not getting any harder yet. We’ve just finished a four-mile swim in fifty-five-degree water, and I’m toast.
The newer guys on my squad come out of the water, laughing. I’m not sure why. I also don’t care as long as we’re working together and not slouching. I check my watch, satisfied with what I see. Our time is right at two hours and forty minutes. Better than average.
“Solid job, guys. We have no workups, so get cleaned up and hit the range. I’ll check in with O’Reilly and meet up with you later.”
I run into Fish and his squad after showering. “Hot orders to HQ,” Fish reports. “Don’t worry about the rest of your men. O’Reilly hasn’t summoned them.”
I don’t mind since that’s where I was heading anyway. The nine of us walk across the field toward Little Creek headquarters. Commander O’Reilly and Admiral Jameson are waiting for us on the front steps.
“Let’s take a field trip,” the admiral says.
No one questions the man, but we pass around a few odd looks. Our boss’s boss herds us to the helipad where a Sea Hawk waits. The ride to wherever is short, and when the doors open again, we’re on the Knot Corp. compound.
I glance toward Fish and Devil, and Fish nods. The pair seem to be thinking the same as me. Someone liked Chelsea’s plan.
Knot greets us in the lobby and leads the way to the same planning room as before. The admiral sits among the contractors instead of standing in the front. Knot attempts to give him reign, but Jameson says, “Your idea. Your meeting.”
Knot tips his chin to the man as the rest of us find seats. “Last night, a collection of PMCs and SEALs got together to brainstorm ways to flush out the traitor. They came up with a solid plan, which Sadie shared with me. I repeated it to Commander O’Reilly, who passed it along to the admiral. We all agree that this plan is our best next step.”
I can’t help but look toward Chelsea to see how she’s taking this vote of confidence. I expect to see pride in her good idea or at least satisfaction, but I find neither. Her features are weighed down by guilt as she scans the faces of her teammates who weren’t invited to last night’s discussion.
“Our objective is Congressman Harding. We’ll get him to give up how he learned of these attacks and if he’s involved with planning them. To do that, we’ll appeal to his vanity. We’ll offer him a platform among the powerful and influential. All wealthy and all fake, of course. I’ll hand things over to the author to walk you through the plan. Chelsea?” Knot beckons.
Chelsea’s eyes widen in shock before her mask slips into place. She pushes out of her chair and strides up to her boss. Chelsea runs through the plan as we left it last night with all the confidence of a drunk on a dance floor. I wasn’t wrong about her. She is quite the actress. I wonder how many in this room see through Chelsea’s false bravado.
When she’s done, Knot opens the floor for questions, much like we would do in a SEAL strategy meeting. One of the PMCs is the first to speak up. “Who do you have going undercover for this?”
Worried Chelsea will give the man the wrong answer, I speak up. “That would be me and Chelsea.”
“No offense,” the man teases, “but if you’re looking for someone to play debutant, you need to pick someone else.”
Knot dismisses the suggestion with a wave. “Actually, that’s what makes Chelsea the perfect choice. She’s a chameleon. I can throw her into any situation, and she’ll adapt faster than any of you.”
Well, I’ll be damned. Just as surprised as I am, Chelsea gapes at her boss. It looks like I’m not the only one who sees her, after all.
“Now that we’ve got that settled, this mission will go down in Spain in four weeks, which gives us ample time to prepare. Our legal team is working to set up a shell corporation through which this operation will be funded. Sambi is searching for possible hosting sites and will send plans and pictures by the end of the day. Our work begins tomorrow. With the Admiral’s permission, you SEALs are dismissed except for Bennett. You’ve got work to do. The rest of you be back here at eleven hundred tomorrow.”
The room clears of Navy men, and then Knot kicks out all his people but Chelsea and Birdie. “The three of you start today.”
Birdie stands and gathers her things. Chelsea looks a little sick. Besides the blow to my ego, I look forward to learning more about the woman. Or getting under her skin, anyway.
Chelsea and I follow Birdie, who seems to have a plan about where she wants to set up shop. We end up in her office in the executive area and settle in behind her closed door. The room is perfectly posh for a company of this caliber. Sizeable executive desk with bookshelves behind and inviting guest chairs. To the right of her desk is a fancy sitting area with club chairs and a leather sofa. Little touches remind me of Birdie’s house, which is warm and welcoming but missing the dick-shaped planters found in her home.
Birdie kicks off her shoes and drops into the farthest chair, tucking her feet beneath her. Chelsea and I sit on opposite sides of the sofa.
“Alright. Let’s get started. We need to come up with bulletproof backstories and motives for working with this asshat. I’ll oversee all support to corroborate your covers, but I’m not adept at making them up. That’ll be on you.”
Birdie readies a digital tablet for taking notes. It appears she expects us to spin this on the fly.
“The simplest cover would be for us to be married,” I suggest.
Chelsea’s neck nearly snaps with how fast she turns to glare at me. Ignoring her, I explain, “It makes the most sense for a couple hosting a dinner party to be husband and wife, right?”
At Chelsea’s squeak, Birdie sets down her tablet. “Um…” She waggles her pointer finger between us. “With this chemistry, I couldn’t pass you off as colleagues.”
I shrug, unconcerned. “We did just meet. Maybe Chelsea and I should take an hour or two and get to know one another first. That would help, right?”
“I…I don’t_” Chelsea stutters before being cut off.
“We’ll go get some lunch and come back,” I announce and stand.
Birdie tucks her equipment away in agreement. “Okay. I’ll grab a bite as well. See you in two hours.”