Chelsea
Fifty times now, I’ve picked up my phone to message Jackson_fifty times over the last two days.
I’m sorry.
The words are needed but are not enough. Jackson was right. I’ve taken this whole need for acceptance to a dangerous level if the thought of sleeping with Harding for answers didn’t give me pause.
Time ticks by as I stare out the window. The driver brings the SUV to a stop, and I file out with the rest of my crew to board the jet taking us to DC.
Sadie, Aaron, Bash, and Kai stow their gear and buckle into the lavish seats for the short flight. They’re the only ones going with me. While Kai isn’t a team leader, the half Samoan–half Caucasian man is the most attentive operative on our team. He’ll aid Bash on video surveillance while Aaron and Sadie pose as a couple in the bar. The SEALs aren’t allowed to operate on US soil, so their participation was an automatic no. Given the nature of this particular exercise, they’re not needed anyway.
I fidget with the hem of the ivory-and-green floral Giambattista Valli dress Amina picked out specifically for tonight. The wide V-neck cuts down to the empire waist, ensuring I could wear no bra with the pretty spring dress. My hair is done to perfection, and so is my makeup.
On the outside, I look as ready as I can be for my last undercover mission. Inside, all I can think about are the regrets I have.
Upon arrival, vehicles from our DC branch whisk my team to the hotel. After checking into adjoining rooms, the men set up surveillance equipment while Sadie fits the crew with hidden cameras and microphones. No one recites security measures or coaches me up. The team hardly speaks at all. No one wants to be here, least of all me.
Just before go time, Bash orders everyone out of the room, sealing me inside with him. He turns off his radio and grips my shoulders, dipping his head to stare into my eyes. “We need a code word.”
“We don’t need a code word,” I counter, exasperated.
I look away so Bash won’t see my reluctance to face off with Harding. Bash reads me anyway. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing. I’m_”
“, stop. I may be missing a lot of details, but I’ve worked with you long enough to see that something’s not right. Before you walk out that door, I need to know if this is personal or if you’re afraid of Harding.”
My shoulders stiffen. “I am not afraid of some candy-ass politician.”
“Good. Then do I need to kick Jackson’s ass? Don’t think I haven’t noticed his absence or his silence.”
“You leave him alone,” I fire back, poking Bash in the chest. “Jackson has suffered enough because of me.”
I shove away from Bash, suddenly energized for my mission. As I yank open the door, he whispers, “Maybe, but he needs you.”
My feet keep moving, though my heart craves the validation of Bash’s belief. A second after the door closes, it opens again, and his voice carries down the hall after me. “The code word is trust.”
I ignore my partner and keep moving until I’m seated in the bar. Not long after, the bartender serves me a fruity, sparkling mocktail. Bash and Kai are holed up watching the camera feeds, and Sadie and Aaron are seated in a booth across the classy room.
My nerves are shot, and the longer I wait for Harding to show up, the closer I get to cracking. Since talking to Bastien, all I can think about is Jackson. I still believe the man deserves better, but I’m going batshit thinking, despite my crazy, that I could possibly be something he needs.
That’s something worth fighting for, fighting myself, my demons. I’ll even fight Jackson for another chance. I reach for my purse and phone, but there’s a touch on my bare shoulder before I can put the call through. I slide my phone back into my bag and turn to greet my target. “Congressman Harding. So good to see you again.”
The tall man towers over me in my seat. I direct him to the chair across from me so he’ll be in direct view of the flower cam planted by Sadie. With a predator’s smile, he slowly unbuttons his jacket and holds his tie to sit. “Please. Call me Calvin. Or Cal if you wish to be more friendly.”
I test out the name, speaking to the ceiling to expose my neck. “Hmm. Cal. I like that.”
Harding winks. “Thanks for carving out time to meet me. I hear you have a busy weekend planned.”
I brush off the comment. “When you have no children, your family is a continent away, and your husband is always deployed, you find things to fill your weekend. I get to the point sometimes where I’d do just about anything to feel a connection with another human.”
A waiter approaches to take Harding’s drink order, and I scan the room, briefly locking eyes with Sadie. When the barman leaves, Harding leans forward. “I understand how you feel. And to be worried about your husband’s safety doesn’t help. How often is he forced to work with mercenaries?”
My blood boils at the derogatory term, but I don’t let it show. “Pretty often,” I answer with a sigh. “And with the number of tragedies you’ve reported, my nerves aren’t catching a break, I’m afraid.”
Harding reaches across the table to take my hand. “That is an unfortunate consequence of what I do. I regret any loss of sleep I cause you.”
“No. I understand. You have to do this. No one else is. Besides, no battle was ever won from a place of comfort. I also know you need help and support, not whining from spouses like me. Speaking of, did you have something in mind for me to do?”
The waiter returns with Harding’s drink, and I clench my napkin in my fist at the interruption. “Sir, your table is ready.”
Shocked at the announcement, I sit up straight. “Table?”
Harding brags, “I’m friends with the manager and requested a private dining room. I hope you don’t mind.”
Schooling my features, I toss back my shoulders and stand. “Hmm. Preferential treatment. You’re setting a dangerous precedent, Cal.”
Harding collects his old-fashioned and my mocktail with a laugh, and we follow the host down a long hall past a collection of doors. Sadie’s concerned gaze follows me from the room, but there’s nothing either of us can do.
We follow the host down a hall to a set of heavy French doors open to a candlelit room. Fragrant floral arrangements adorn the table, and polished silverware gleams in the flickering candlelight. The scene is far too romantic and intimate to pretend to be even remotely professional.
The host pulls out one of the two chairs for me and places a napkin across my lap. Harding sets my drink down and declines a pour of chilled champagne.
A waiter returns the bottle to its ice bucket and removes the covers from the plates. All three courses are on the table, which I find odd. The host and waiter exit gracefully, if quickly, and, suddenly nervous, I reach for my drink. After a fortifying sip, I place the glass back on the table. “This is beautiful.”
Harding follows my gaze around the room. “I felt privacy was needed.”
I snap back to his face at his tone, but he only grins. “In case we discuss your colleagues.”
“Of course. Right.” I shake my head, feigning disappointment to not be the reason and embarrassed to have shown it.
Mine proves to be the correct reaction because Harding sits up just a little straighter. “Well. Shall we?” he asks as he picks up his fork.
We mainly make small talk during the meal. Strangely, no waitstaff returns. I sip my drink faster than I would a real one just to see what happens, but no offer is made to secure me another. When my glass is empty, Calvin reaches for the champagne, pouring me a glass.
I alternate between it and the water, wanting to remain sober. Halfway through dessert, I attempt to get the conversation back on track. “We got interrupted earlier. Though I was glad to hear from a new friend, I didn’t get to find out why you wanted to meet. Have you found a use for me? I don’t imagine I can be as helpful as your contact at the Pentagon, but I’m good at working with people’s emotions. Maybe I could help with speech writing.”
“Don’t sell yourself short,” Harding croons. “You are far more valuable than that. You’re just feeling a little lost right now. I get it. Believe me. I get it. You’d think being in Congress, a man would never be alone, but regardless of the number of people I deal with daily, I get lonely. People only see me as another rung on the ladder.”
“Oh, I’m not… Please, don’t think I’m_”
Harding rushes to pull his chair closer to mine and grabs both my hands. “I would never think that of you. Remember, it was me that called you, right? And instead of asking for something, you’re offering to help. I find that, and you, refreshing.”
I almost throw up in my mouth at the man’s insincerity. He’s a media whore who prefers the company of expensive escorts over that of his wife. The latter information is courtesy of Birdie, of course.
Harding begins drawing circles on the insides of my wrists, and I let out a little moan. As soon as I do, my eyes spring open at the phony slip. I clear my throat to cover the intended faux pas. “Um. I’ve been thinking about your contact at the Pentagon. In my head, I like to think it’s Admiral Jameson. He’s a good man and one I’d like to imagine spearheading the effort to rid the ranks of mercenaries.”
“My contact isn’t part of the Navy, but if the admiral is sympathetic, I’d love to make his acquaintance.”
It wasn’t much, but I’ve eliminated one branch so far. “Oh, I couldn’t say. I’d just like to think so. I don’t think the Navy has as much experience with the private military as the Army does. Is that the branch our hero works for?”
Harding stiffens at some of the praise shifting to another. “Yes, while it helps to have such a high-ranking connection, I’m afraid my friend doesn’t have the guts to fight this battle in the public arena.”
I let disgust color my voice when I say, “Another man more concerned about his career than doing what’s right. I’m glad you don’t suffer the same affliction.”
The congressman’s ego is restored, but unfortunately, he’s ready to move on. “I think it helps to let the world know what we’re fighting for. I believe it encourages our troops.”
“Absolutely. I’ve seen a difference in Jackson since Spain. When he was last home…”
My face falls, and Harding reaches over to lift my chin. I don’t recoil at his touch, though my skin is crawling. “It’s been difficult for you. Being alone all these years. It’s why you agreed to meet with me, isn’t it?”
I look away, close my eyes, and nod. “I feel so guilty, but having someone’s attention feels nice. I’m sorry. I’ll leave.”
Harding pulls my hands when I try to stand. “I’d rather you stay. Everyone deserves to feel cherished. I imagine you don’t get much of that with your husband being away so much.”
While I’m not surprised by his refusal to let me leave, I also fear I’ve lost control of the narrative. Harding’s not going to give me a name easily. I could keep trying, but there’s no guarantee he’ll give it up. And I don’t know how far I’d have to go to find out.
Promising myself not to go too far, I relax in my chair. Harding places a hand on my thigh, and I allow him to see me flinch. Maybe I can use this. His fingers massage lightly as they creep forward, and I pretend to ramble nervously to keep him distracted and talking. “H_how did you first decide to wade into this fight?”
Lifting his hand to my collarbone, Harding answers, “During a budget meeting. The two sides were arguing over how much was being paid to private military corporations.”
The hand at my collar wraps around my neck, and Harding brushes his lips across my cheek.
I let my fake nervous chatter continue, hoping he’ll let something slip while distracted with what he’s doing. “I’ll bet that was eye-opening. I assume CEOs were arguing pro, and military brass against?”
Fingers slip beneath the hem of my dress and nudge my thighs apart. Shit. I need to slow this down. “Wait. What about the waitstaff?”
Instead of backing down, Harding smirks. “I paid them extra to not disturb us for an hour. And no, plenty of uniforms argued for continued use of contractors.”
Harding allows my conversation, assuming I’m exorcising my reservations. I’m just glad it keeps him away from my mouth. “That’s unbelievable.”
“I took in the scene, noting those who were the staunchest opposers of the government’s use of private military. I sought out those men and formed an alliance.”
Harding shoves one of my straps off my shoulder, nearly exposing my left breast. About the same time, his fingers brush against my panties. My shudder is involuntary and not part of the act. I can’t do this.
I close my eyes in disgust as his mouth latches onto my neck. A tear leaks from my eye, and I whisper, “I’m glad you found someone you could trust.”