Chelsea
I think I’ve decided good angles, not diamonds, are a girl’s best friend. Sadie is talented as a cell phone photographer. These pictures of me actually look good. I expected tragic shots that would require tons of touch-ups.
Sadie posts the best images to Mrs. Bennett’s social media accounts, and then she and Dani leave for the night. I pick up my towel and dry off. Much fiery internal debate is had about covering up or not before I desert the towel on a lounge chair.
I’ve been at work on this pool deck. Those pictures were maintenance on my cover. That means I’m technically still in uniform. So what if I’m low-key hoping to run into Jackson inside? Either his soul will leave his body or his dinner will. It’ll be a risky but fun little experiment.
I close and lock the lanai doors but don’t find Jackson on the first floor. Since I don’t want to seem like I’m looking for him, I grab a bottle of water from the fridge and head upstairs to my room.
I reach my door and open it with a sigh. Figures. Feel good about how you look, and the bastard’s nowhere around. I strip out of the suit and slide into bed, rehearsing possible conversations with Harding for the next two hours. I nod off eventually, as prepared as I can be for whatever may come.
Unlike our usual missions, I don’t make my body fight the time difference. I sleep until noon, knowing there isn’t much prep work needed for tonight. Sambi will have his event crew here by three to set up, and his actors will begin arriving at seven. That’s also when our people will start filtering in. Harding should also arrive around that time, making the scene seem genuinely organic.
Thinking I’ve lazed enough, I force myself out of bed and don a robe to get some coffee. The long, boho satin fabric drapes over my frame, sitting cool against my skin. I tie the rope securely and walk downstairs. I haven’t seen Jackson and don’t hear him moving around, so I assume he’s with his team.
Midday sun filters through the gauzy drapes. The doors are open from the kitchen to the pool deck, and a soft breeze fills the house with the rich fragrance of local flora. I approach the opening and step out onto the lanai. Found him.
Jackson is in the pool, doing laps, gliding beneath the water’s surface. I get lost watching and lean a shoulder against the stone column. A voice from the kitchen startles me a bit later. “Ah. Coffee. Thank God!”
As I scamper back inside to greet Sadie, I catch Jackson staring at me with a knowing smirk. Damn. Caught looking.
Sadie unscrews the lid from her travel cup, grumbling, oblivious to my embarrassment. Her auburn hair is in a messy bun, and she’s dressed for a run. “I put on coffee, and those pricks drank it all while I was on a call with Knot.”
She decks out her morning caffeine and sighs after taking her first sip. I nudge her out of the way, needing my own pick-me-up.
“You ready for today?” she asks.
I shrug but don’t meet her gaze. “Nothing to it. I put on a dress, act my part, and we walk.”
Sadie scoffs. “Are you sure about that? Tonight’s success hinges on your ability to read a man’s mind. Oh, and then you become a passionate nut job, potential mistress, or simpering wife while our whole team watches. That’s a tough ask for anyone.”
“I can sell it.” The only part I’m worried about is turning it off.
Jackson enters the kitchen, fresh from the pool with damp hair and a bare, glistening chest. He takes in my robed body and steps in close. “Morning, Mrs. Bennett. Sleep well?”
I roll my eyes but lift my cup to my lips with both hands to hide my blush.
Sadie refills her mug and rushes for the door. “I’ll be back at three.”
I don’t answer or even look her way. Jackson stalks over and leans into my personal space. My breath catches in my throat until he stands upright again, holding a coffee cup. Dirty tease. Biting back a rude comment, I stare straight ahead, attempting to ignore the hard chest next to me.
“Something wrong, ?” Jackson purrs before his voice drops low. “Does my wife need a good morning kiss?”
Oh, he’ll pay for that. My expression softens to something sensual and dreamy. I drag one of my hands down my neck and over the swell of a breast. Jackson’s eyes follow the movement, widening when my nipples pebble beneath the thin robe. He sucks in a sharp breath as his pupils dilate.
I think that makes us even. “No. I’m fine, dear. I think I’ll take my coffee upstairs.”
Jackson grabs my bicep as I push off the counter. “So we’ve graduated to teasing now?”
I smile innocently. “Nope. Just a little payback.”
A puff of air to my ear accompanies Jackson’s growled chuckle. “Keep it up. I like what it tells me.”
The blatant desire in Jackson’s voice sends a rush of heat to my face and a shiver down my spine. I cover the response with a laugh. “In your dreams, sailor.”
I shake off Jackson’s grasp and slink to my room with clenched thighs. I need a cold shower.
Sambi shows up at one with food to feed a small army. We stuff our faces, and all thirty-two of us, plus his team, perform a walkthrough of tonight’s event, beginning with Wrench’s demonstration of his voyeur skills.
Everyone is clear on their assignments, operational signals, and the timeline. Cameras and mics have all been rechecked and confirmed to be in good working order, and the jet carrying Harding has already landed in Spain. The only detail still up in the air is what script we’ll follow. And I won’t know which to pick until I get a read on Harding up close and in person. No pressure.
With nothing left to do, I let Sadie herd me toward my room and Sambi’s procured team of beauty technicians. The process from Knot’s house repeats much the same. By six, my hair is pinned in a romantic updo, my makeup is silver-screen perfect, and my crimson gown is on. After slipping into my heels, the last touch is for the stylist to position the delicate filigree mask shaped like a dragon with spread wings. It’s black and mysterious, and I’ve never felt so sexy.
The technicians pack up, and Sadie escorts them out after nodding her approval. At the door, she pauses to say, “Unless that fucker’s secretly gay, you should have him eating from the palm of your hand.”
Sadie closes the door, and I look long and hard at myself in the mirror. The face looking back at me is that of a stranger. Maybe it’s the mask, but I feel more prepared to face Harding than any other mission before. Who will I be tonight?
I practice expressions for each of the personalities we prepared. Depending on what Harding presents, I’m locked and loaded for demure, battle axe, passionate activist, and desperate for attention. I’m a master of them all, sadly, and ready to be whatever is necessary to get under Harding’s skin.
With a last wink to my reflection, I swish around and walk out. I take the stairs slowly and enter the great room. Caterers are busy with food staging, and florists tinker with flower arrangements brought in for tonight.
As I take in all the prep work, I have to smile. Sambi always looks a dollar away from being homeless when we meet in the field, but he owns all this. He’s even more of a chameleon than I am.
I don’t see any of my people until I reach the lanai. Fish is in deep discussion with Jackson, whose back is to me. When Fish notices my approach, his eyes widen. Jackson whirls around, only to freeze when he spots me.
Jackson is in the tux we picked, now tailored to fit his frame. He carries his mask in hand, a knight’s armor style. The left is solid black, and the right is silver filigree.
The platoon leader scans me from head to toe and back, all without a word. He seems to be malfunctioning.
“Fish, he may need a reboot,” I joke to hide my nervousness.
“Maybe,” he says with a laugh, “but there’s no way I’m touching his power button.”
That bit of mockery worked because Jackson smacks Fish on the chest. Lieutenant Hill shakes his head at his friend and commanding officer, ignoring him. I take Fish’s outstretched hand, smiling when he gently squeezes mine. “You look beautiful, . I’ll be around.”
Fish walks away, leaving me alone with Jackson. My fake husband pulls me into his arms, and I flinch. “That right there can’t happen tonight,” he drawls. “I should be able to do this”_the man bends me backward and feathers his lips across my neck_“and you not bat an eye.”
“Don’t worry about me. I’ll be ready when the time comes.”
Jackson grins and, keeping me bent over, whispers, “Is that a promise?”
A throat clears behind him, and Jackson pulls me upright again. “Practicing for Harding?” Aaron teases.
“Yes,” I answer, straightening out nonexistent wrinkles in my dress.
“Sambi has everything set up. The rest of his and our people will begin filtering in in another ten minutes or so. Ready to get this show on the road?”
I nod toward the senior operative, and Jackson pulls on his mask. “You ready to be your normal, annoying self?” I ask sweetly.
“Always,” he rumbles.
Jackson and I enter the great room to greet Sambi and thus begin the careful dance. We’re to be nothing more than gracious hosts all night as if this were a real party. We’ll mingle, sample the delicious fare prepared by local chefs, sip champagne, and dance to the live ensemble playing outside by the pool.
With each new guest that arrives, security checks them in, and eventually, a buzz in the room indicates our target is here. Harding breezes in, sporting the plain white Guy Fawkes mask provided to him. Harding didn’t bring his wife. Interesting.
I discreetly watch his interaction with our door security and make a game time decision. “Jackson, take a hike,” I whisper quickly.
“What?” he whisper yells.
“Come back in three minutes. Please.”
I expect to plead my case, but Jackson doesn’t fight me. He shows his confidence in me by walking away. “Three minutes,” he whispers as he turns to leave.
Fish escorts Congressman Harding to me and introduces him. “Ma’am. May I introduce Congressman Calvin Harding and his aide, Bernard Pollack.”
Harding doesn’t acknowledge Fish, so I mirror his behavior toward the staff and ignore his aide as well. “Congressman, so pleased you could make it,” I purr.
The fake smile and too-long handshake make me want to gag, but I keep perfect composure. “Thank you for the invitation. I was surprised at the effort you spent in getting me here.”
I’m in heels, and Harding stands eye-to-eye with me. That puts him at six feet. His compact frame hints at a disciplined fitness regimen. Impeccably styled dark hair peaks over the white mask, and his rehearsed smile reveals perfect, white teeth.
Harding skims the grand home, dollar signs flashing in his cunning blue eyes. He then carefully includes my body in his perusal before commenting, “The masks are a curious if enthralling choice.”
Harding’s wandering eye settles me into my least favorite role. Dammit. I give him a sultry laugh, draping my fingers over my throat. “Yes, well, some of our potential benefactors in attendance aren’t sure how well their viewpoint would be received back home. I’m sure you understand, as you’re the sole voice in Washington leading this effort.”
Harding dismisses my praise with calculating charm and studies my face through the mask. Feigning ignorance, he asks, “We haven’t met before, have we?”
“Not directly, no. I’m told we recently attended an event together, but our paths never crossed.” Because I was saved by a savvy admiral.
“Had I known you were there, I would have sought you out. Like many, we’ve begun following your career. I’m pleased to see someone with values that align with my own bravely speaking out. Sadly, our government’s use of private military is a touchy subject.”
The self-important man preens with the praise. “Yes, and what is your position on the matter?”
“I believe the entirety of our defense budget should be spent on our service men and women.”
I let myself become animated, and Jackson arrives seconds later, placing a restraining hand on my shoulder. “Sorry about that. My wife gets a little passionate where my safety is concerned.” He extends a hand to the congressman. “Lieutenant Jackson Bennett.”
Harding’s brows rise. “Oh, you serve?”
Jackson nods. “US Navy. SEAL Team Two.”
Harding takes note of Jackson’s hand still on me, and I step out from under my fake husband’s hold. To his credit, Jackson doesn’t react. Harding, however, does.
The man relaxes, and the corner of his lips raises ever so slightly. Got him. I paste my smile back on, shift toward the prick, and narrow my act to two possible roles. Both of which I hate. “This reception is a meeting of minds per se. A means to garner support for this movement, monetarily and in voice and strategy. And, if I may be so bold, to devise a way to make the idea more palatable for the mainstream voter.” Intentionally, as if it were an afterthought, I add, “My husband could touch on how redirecting contracting budgets would benefit active service members.”
I let my eyes light up again and continue. “I could address the flawed psychological motivations for someone to go private, and a few benefactors would propose lobbying opportunities.” Adding a smile for effect, I propose, “That’s where you come in. We want to approach and provide backing for the right candidates to advance this cause.”
Harding bristles at the possibility of sharing the spotlight but recovers quickly. “I am just one man, after all.”
“Don’t sell yourself short. Without you taking this stand, there would be no movement. These mongrels_”
“Now, honey,” Jackson chides. “Sure, I’ve had some bad experiences with contractors, but some of them are just like us, working men and women who wish to support this country.”
I issue a tolerant smile toward Jackson and redirect my attention to Harding. “My husband may not be willing to condemn these mercenary animals outright, but I will.”
Skin, posing as a server, approaches with a slight bow. “Dinner is served, ma’am.” He gestures toward the patio and guides us to the head table.
“Congressman, please,” I say, pointing to the center setting. “You are the guest of honor.”
I signal Jackson to sit to Harding’s left and move to the congressman’s opposite side. When Harding pulls out my chair, I catch Sadie watching from the adjacent table. She winks, telling me the night couldn’t be going any better.
Jackson and Harding have to remove their masks to eat, a calculated move. They’re the only ones in attendance wearing full face masks. Jackson’s face and true, verifiable identity will put Harding at ease. The choice for Harding means we will have photographic evidence to go with our voice recordings.
The servers bring out the first course, and Jackson shifts his chair back to deliver his rehearsed welcome speech. Considering Harding’s behavior thus far, I stand before Jackson can and do it myself.
“Friends, esteemed guests, welcome. I am honored that you would commit time from your busy schedules to confront a dangerous practice affecting our military’s courageous men and women.”