Jackson
“Good men and women like my husband struggle to stay alive while these greedy mercenaries play dirty with better pay and equipment. The government should devote the defense budget_our tax dollars_to our troops and only our troops.”
Chelsea’s voice softens, showing off her skill as an actress. “Each of you, or someone you love, was directly harmed by the war-for-profit machine. It’s time for this practice to stop. Let the better pay and equipment go to our fighting men and women. You’re here tonight to help bring about this change. Winning this battle is too much for one man, even a powerful congressman.”
She pauses and looks at Harding, beaming a megawatt smile for him. The man preens, feeding off the attention. Chelsea continues her speech, eyes still on Harding. “There is more to be done.” Chelsea turns to look over the staged crowd again. “I trust we can count on you to help turn this tide. Thank you.”
The collective actors applaud, and some yell out for Harding to speak. Never one to miss an opportunity, he stands and rests a hand on Chelsea’s bare shoulder. The man addresses the crowd, but I don’t notice anything except how his fingers caress Chelsea’s skin. “This is a big job and an important one. There are those in the Pentagon who agree, and with their backing and support from you and others like you, we will see change.”
My eyes jolt forward at his incriminating statement. No way he just said that. I seek out the PMC leader to confirm what I heard, and Sadie winks at me through her mask. One step closer.
The rest of the meal goes forward without any fanfare. Chelsea carries the conversation with Harding, leaving me out of it for the most part. Harding doesn’t seem to miss me, which I take to be part of the plan. By now, I understand which character role Chelsea has settled into. And I hate it just as much as her.
Chelsea’s accomplished subversion continues after dinner, pointing out people in the crowd and sharing their fake stories, wealth, and willingness to throw money at the problem. Harding is enraptured, at times touching Chelsea’s hand or leaning too close to whisper to another man’s wife_who he thinks is another man’s wife, anyway.
Chelsea is perfectly charming, as I knew she would be. She’s a master at becoming that which a person most identifies with, except with me. I don’t mind because I want the real Chelsea, and right now, another man is touching her.
Dessert and drinks are announced in the garden and pool area. Chelsea slips her arm around Harding’s and leads him around to meet specific people with rehearsed backgrounds. I follow them like a puppy wanting to be played with, the role I was to assume if all Harding’s attention went to Chelsea.
My mask is in my hand as I had no interest in putting it back on. The damned thing irritated the shit out of me. Harding’s mask sits on the table, likely because he preferred his face to be on full display.
Fish walks to the edge of the lanai and signals for me. Since no one notices I’m here, I walk away to follow him inside. “O’Reilly and Knot are watching, and O’Reilly thinks Chelsea will get more from Harding if you’re not there. Find someone else to talk to. Oh, and Pin, try to look like you’re not about to rip the man’s arm off.”
I flip off my B squad leader and walk back outside. All the SEALs have the benefit of wearing radios, so they’re all aware of my state and new orders. Skin intercepts me on the lanai, wearing a server uniform and carrying a tray of champagne.
“Here, you look like you could use this.” He hands me a tumbler of whiskey from behind his back. “Make it last. It’ll be the only one you get.”
I walk past Chelsea and Harding, who now has a hand resting against Chelsea’s back. My blood boils, and I turn toward them. I only make it one step before my name is called from poolside. Bandaid waves me over, and I grudgingly approach him.
The doctor claps me on the shoulder and pulls me close. “I’ve got a syringe loaded with sedatives in my pocket. Don’t make me use it.”
I try to pull from his grip, but his fingers squeeze, holding me in place. “Stand down, Lieutenant. You’re under orders to hang out with me for a while.”
Planting my feet, I shake off the doctor’s grip and turn to look over my shoulder. Chelsea and Harding are heavily engaged in conversation and ignoring everyone else here. Turning to face Bandaid again, I demand, “Give me your radio.”
“Pardon?”
“I want your radio, Myers. Give it to me.”
He listens to the powers that be for a moment before handing it over. As soon as I position the device in my ear, Chelsea’s sultry voice comes through loud and clear. “I hope you’ll contact me if I can help. has a hard job and can’t tell me anything about it. I wouldn’t know anything about this problem at all if it weren’t for hearing about these awful occurrences on the news.”
“Your support would mean the world to me. Thank you.”
My back remains to the pair, though it’s difficult to hold still. Harding’s honeyed words drip with filthy intention.
“Great,” Chelsea cheers. “Why don’t we exchange contact information.”
“Chelsea is leading Harding inside,” Devil updates over the radio.
Commander O’Reilly takes over the play-by-play from there, monitoring the cameras. “She’s stopping by the planted camera flower and picking it up. Shit. Harding just took it from Chelsea’s hand. Wait a minute. The bastard only tucked it above Chelsea’s ear.”
That means she’s leading him somewhere private. I must look poised to run as Devil breaks in again. “Stand down, Pin.”
“I’ve still got that needle,” Bandaid teases.
“Alright. Shut up. All of you,” I growl.
“Hey, calm down. We’re still acting, remember? The man’s security or his aide could walk through here at any second.”
Dammit, he’s right. I relax my stance but focus only on the radio in my ear.
“Have you enjoyed the convention?” Chelsea asks.
“Sadly, I didn’t arrive early enough to attend today, and I’ll need to leave early in the morning.”
“That’s too bad, but then most of the people I would hope for you to meet are here tonight,” she soothes.
“You know, Mrs. Bennett. You’re a remarkable woman to fight for your husband this way.”
Leather creaks, telling me Chelsea now sits on the stiff tuxedo sofa in the office. I can picture her shrugging shoulders based on the sound of her voice. “ is a good man, but I’m doing this for a friend. He was killed when a military contractor fucked up a mission for personal gain. Sorry. Please excuse my language.”
Harding laughs. “Please. I hear worse during congressional hearings.”
Leather creaks again, and Harding’s voice is much closer to the mic now. “Being a SEAL, your husband is probably away a lot.”
“It’s true. It’s lonely being a hero’s wife. On the plus side, I have loads of time to devote to worthy causes.”
“And what about you?” Harding murmurs. “What do you do for you?”
Hell fucking damn. The woman is an artist. Chelsea has Harding eating out of the palm of her hand. I’ve never witnessed more expert manipulation. I can practically see the man inching his way closer.
“Well, I have met some wonderful, fascinating people over the years,” she answers.
“Am I included in that count?”
Chelsea purrs, her voice fawning and breathy. “Most certainly.”
Her fan-girl act is way too effective. Harding is totally sucked in and ready to make a move of his own. Leather creaks, fabric rustles, and my imagination runs wild. I can just see the bastard taking advantage of Chelsea’s admiration and sliding his hand up her leg.
Before I realize it, I’m on the move, but no one dares break character to call me back, at least in person. I pull the radio from my ear and toss it to the nearest SEAL as I storm through the house.
I pause at the office door, needing a calming breath. Harding is sitting too close with his hand on Chelsea’s bare knee. The slit in her dress has opened up to her hip, and that asshole’s fingers begin crawling northward. I see red, and I’m not talking about the damned dress.
I’m tempted to kill the man, so I force several calming breaths in. My rational brain kicks in, and I back up a few silent steps, calling out, “Chelsea? Some of our guests are ready to head out. Where are you?”
I step loudly toward the office, noting the sounds of two people springing apart. “There you are,” I say with a smile.
“, yes,” Chelsea stammers, mimicking a woman caught cheating and is trying to appear innocent. “My phone is upstairs, but I’m sure…” Chelsea turns and searches the desk, bending over the surface toward the opposite side for the notepad and pen. The move is on purpose but only for Harding’s sake. That doesn’t mean I’m not fantasizing about having her bent over like this later.
She scribbles down a phone number and email address, handing the note to the congressman. “Please reach out to me_us_if there’s anything we can do to help in addition to financial support.”
Harding accepts the note with a slight bow. “Very much looking forward to it.”
I’m on the verge again, so I bite my tongue and shepherd the pair back to the main party area. One fake couple approaches to say their goodbyes and several others follow. Harding takes the hint and says, “I guess I should head out as well. We have an early flight tomorrow.”
Chelsea faces the man, grasping his offered hand in both of hers. “Thank you so much for coming, Calvin.”
I simply nod at the man, glad I don’t have to pretend to be anything other than my grouchy self.
The instant Harding leaves, the act is over, and all the crew begins to clear out. The caterers have already cleaned up and left, and Sadie and Aaron only remain long enough to help take down the extra cameras. As Chelsea and I walk the pair out, Aaron says, “You both did great work tonight.”
Chelsea hangs her head. “I’m not so sure.”
“Trust me,” Sadie commends her colleague. “You did.”
I close the door behind them and pause to brace a hand against the frame.
Chelsea stands behind me, holding the metal mask she wore over her real one. I close my eyes, still picturing that bastard doing his best to seduce her and Chelsea playing along. The sounds and images drive me batshit until I’m in danger of losing it for real.
Unbidden, Caleb’s advice comes to mind. Dominate her. I guarantee it’s her biggest wish. A few moments with Chelsea over the weeks seem to back up his theory, further weakening my resolve.
Before long, jealousy and desire fuel a hunger that gnaws at my insides, bordering on obsessive. I’m unraveling, dangerously close to following through with my son’s suggestion, consequences be damned.
Chelsea steps forward and lightly touches my shoulder. “?”
That timid whisper snaps the tenuous control I was holding onto. I slip the mask back onto my face and speak to the door, voice strained and slightly unhinged. “Run.”
Chelsea freezes as if she doesn’t understand my growled command. “What?” she repeats cautiously, but I’m too far gone.
“I. Said. Run.”
I spin around, and Chelsea’s eyes widen at the mask and my eyes behind it. “What…what’s wrong with you?”
My laughter is chilling, even to my own ears. “Wrong with me? I’ve spent the last two hours watching that dipshit steal your attention and little touches that should be for me alone. Whatever patience I had is wiped out. You’re mine, and I’m through waiting.”
“, you_”
With a death grip on the door handle, I cut Chelsea off. “You’ve got one minute before I move from this spot. Then I’m coming for you.”
The woman stands paralyzed, her mind blown. Fine by me. It’ll make her easier to catch. Still, I need her to make a conscious decision. “Chelsea, time’s ticking.”
My warning spurs her to action, and Chelsea finally moves. I stop her with one last word of caution. “If I catch you, I won’t stop. We both know how good you are at hiding. That means if I find you, you wanted me to.”