Chapter 1 #2
“But, Yara.” His fleshy lips curve into a smile.
“You’re not like those women who have to work because they can’t find a man.
You’re gorgeous.” He touches my hair, twining a tendril around his fingers.
“Honestly, I’m shocked you’re still single.
There must be men lined up around the block waiting to claim you. ”
My ears feel like they’re steaming.
Pulling my hair behind my shoulder, I plaster on a tight smile as I remind myself, It’s an event. For charity. There are close to two hundred people here. I can’t haul off and smack this guy in the middle of the banquet hall. Or break his fingers as punishment for touching me without permission.
Just as I’m trying to compose a politely scathing response, my phone buzzes.
“Oh, I’d better check that,” I say while reaching for my clutch. I yank my phone out and flip it over to read the incoming message, relieved for the reprieve, however brief it is.
As soon as I read the name on the screen, some of my anger cools.
It’s Ace.
Hey, you doing alright? Need a rescue?
I glance at the Blade and Arrow table to find Ace looking at me. His features are creased with concern.
Though I’m far from feeling cheerful right now—forty-six minutes of sitting next to MOMP will do that—the sight of Ace makes me smile.
I’m not sure if it’s from the relief of seeing a friendly face, or the incongruity of big, gruff-looking Ace stuffed into a tuxedo.
In all the years I’ve known Ace, which has to be close to eight years now, I’ve never seen him dressed up like this.
It’s either been his uniform, workout gear, or casual clothes like jeans or cargo pants.
And, I have to admit, he looks good in all of them.
But in a tux? With the fabric stretching just so across his broad shoulders?
And the crisp white shirt setting off his piercing blue eyes and dark-blonde hair?
Well, he looks better than good. And from the longing looks several of the women at the neighboring tables are giving him, I’m not the only one who thinks so.
Throwing Ace a quick smile in return, I shake my head slightly before replying to his text.
I’m okay. Just enjoying a pleasant dinner with MOMP. Fortunately, it’ll be over soon.
Seconds later, Ace’s response appears on my screen.
MOMP?
Angling my phone to ensure Camden can’t see my message, I quickly type my reply.
Most Obnoxious Man on the Planet.
From three tables over, Ace grins.
My stomach flutters unexpectedly.
A warm feeling spreads through my body, but it has nothing to do with anger this time.
Out of all the Blade and Arrow guys, Ace is by far my favorite.
I’ve always liked him, ever since we first met during a training session at Fort Campbell, but in the past year, we’ve formed a deeper connection.
Not a romantic one—he’s never given any indication of wanting that, and I don’t think I have, either—but ever since he stayed at my place last year along with Indy, Tyler, and Bea, there’s been a new depth to our friendship.
We don’t see each other often, not with me in Rainier Beach and him just outside Portland, but we text at least a few times a month to check in. And he’s one of the ones I was most looking forward to spending time with tonight.
Dinner’s almost over, I remind myself. Soon I’ll be free of MOMP and hopefully enjoy the rest of my chauvinist-free night.
I’m just about to send another message when I catch a flash of movement out of the corner of my eye.
It’s Camden’s hand inching closer to my wine glass.
My three-quarters-full wine glass, which I don’t intend to finish since I have to drive home tonight.
I don’t say anything right away. I’m not sure why.
It would be easy enough to grab my glass.
Or simply ask Camden what he’s doing. But part of me just wants to observe.
It’s the same curious part that used to get me into trouble as a kid, like when I decided to take my dad’s brand new phone apart just to see what was inside.
Or when I decided to modify the refrigerator so it would warn you if the door was open too long, which I still think was a good idea.
But this isn’t tinkering with parts to see what I can create. This is watching a jerk do something that raises a giant red flag.
As his hand moves even closer, I cast a lightning-fast glance around the table. The other six people—all couples, so apparently I really drew the unlucky straw—are either deep in conversation or in one case, kissing. So they aren’t paying attention to whatever Camden is or isn’t doing.
Would he? I wonder. Would he dare?
Because I still remember the first week of college, when all the freshman women in my dorm were rounded up for a lesson about how we need to watch our drinks and never, ever leave them alone.
“It could take less than ten seconds,” my RA told us grimly.
“Ten seconds for a predator to slip something into your drink. You might not think it could happen to you. But trust me, it can.”
Sobering talk for a group of excited freshmen, but it stuck with me. And as much as I don’t want to think The Most Obnoxious Man on the Planet could really try to slip something into my drink in front of all these people, I can’t ignore the possibility.
His hand is less than a finger’s length away from my glass now.
I hold my breath.
Will he? Or am I making more of this than it is? Maybe he thinks it’s his glass. Or—
Wait.
If it turns out he’s worse than obnoxious, that he’s actually a predator, I damn well want to make sure he’s punished.
Time seems to slow as options spin through my mind.
If he drops something into my glass, I could call him out right away. But he could easily knock over the glass, effectively hiding the evidence.
If he tries to drug me, I could take the wine glass outside. Ask Ace about having the wine tested. But if it comes back positive for GHB or some drug like that, how do I have the proof that Camden did it? It’ll be my word against his.
Or.
I could play along.
I could pretend to be drunk, see if he offers to take me someplace more private, and catch him red-handed.
I could be the badass Yara I used to be in the Army. The one who never shied away from a challenge, who never let anyone intimidate me, who proved she was just as strong and capable as the men, regardless of what critics thought of me.
I could be the Yara who dedicated her life to protecting people.
And maybe, for the first time in three years, I wouldn’t feel as much like a failure.
That decides it.
If this jerk does what my gut is telling me he’s about to, I’m taking him down.
So I watch through the fringe of my eyelashes as his fingers catch the base of my glass. Everything else fades into the background—the buzz of voices in the room, the chime of an incoming text, the beating of my heart—while I watch him drag the wine glass back towards him.
There’s still a chance it’s nothing. I know that. But there’s also a chance it’s something.
He has the glass halfway back to him when another idea strikes me.
The camera.
I can record him. Get inarguable proof.
A few months ago, when I was home sick with a sinus infection, I got the idea of installing tiny surveillance cameras on all my bags.
It stemmed from hearing about Eden and how her stalker stuck a tracker on her purse without her knowing.
“It could have happened anywhere,” Rafe told me.
“Hanging on the back of her chair at a restaurant. In the locker at the gym. She couldn’t have eyes on it all the time. ”
But if there were a tiny camera on her purse, she could have.
So I set to installing cameras designed to look like decorative accents on all my purses and bags. Not because I thought anyone would stick a tracker on one of them, but just because I wanted to try it.
And my clutch, which is sitting right on the table in front of me, just happens to be one of the bags I modified. Which means…
Heart racing with excitement, I carefully reach for the flap of my clutch. The little camera is right there, nestled inside a cluster of beads. If you didn’t know it was there, you’d never know. I put it there, and I even have a hard time noticing.
With my attention half on my wine glass and half on the clutch, I press the camera to turn it on. Then I shift the clutch so the camera is facing Camden, hold my breath, and wait.
Another text comes in on my phone, but I can’t afford to look.
For the first time since I told my commander I was separating from the Army, I feel that familiar rush of adrenaline again. No, this isn’t nearly as dangerous as what I used to do as a Green Beret, but it’s enough to get my heart pumping.
Do it, I silently command. Do it. I know you want to. Do it. And then you’ll discover I’m not some woman you can claim.
And five seconds later, he does.
In goes a tiny sprinkle of powder. The tiny particles float down, dissolving quickly in the pale gold liquid. He gives the glass a quick swirl, mixing it further. Then, with a furtive glance around the table, he slowly pushes it back to where he found it.
Crap. He really did it.
In the middle of a banquet hall filled with hundreds of people.
Right beside me, while I’m supposedly on my phone.
Anger flares hot. This asshole.
The urge to punch him has me fisting my hand beneath the table. I could. I know a hundred ways to hurt him, kill him, just by the strike of my hand.
But I won’t. I’ll settle for taking his misogynistic predator ass down instead.
Now that I have confirmation that something’s in my glass, I turn my attention back to the string of texts from Ace.
Most Obnoxious Man on the Planet. Maybe I’ll use that for Indy when he’s annoying me.
You sure you’re okay?
Do you need me to talk to him? I know you can, but if you don’t want to…
Crap. I don’t want big, intimidating Ace coming over and messing up my plan. I need Camden to think I’m alone. Vulnerable. At least for now. But soon, I will need Ace and his team for backup, so I need to loop him in.
My fingers fly across the screen as I type.