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Knot reaches up and loosens his tie. “Well, in light of today’s news, I’d say someone appears to be working with Harding to take down our industry.”
“But you said the suicide bombing was classified. A freshman congressman wouldn’t have clearance,” I point out.
“Classified after the fact,” Knot responds. “It seems someone in the Pentagon is trying to stop the bleeding.”
Chelsea
The war room empties, with most scattering in different directions. I hang back with Bash, Sadie, and Aaron to discuss the coming chaos. “What do you think, ? You’re the resident expert in being falsely accused.”
Aaron cocks his head my way and glares. “Really, Chelsea?”
I shrug. “Sorry. It’s a personality flaw.”
Bash ignores us both. “Who benefits from Iron Strike going down?”
“That’s only relevant if Iron Strike is the only target. Knot seems to think it’s all of us,” I answer.
“Okay, so who benefits if we all go down?”
Tugging on my ear, I think about it for a second but come up empty. “I don’t know. Harding must have a big stake in the movement since he’s so vocal about it. Maybe if he’s successful, he’ll look like a Washington powerhouse and secure his place for the next thirty years.”
“Maybe,” Sadie ponders, “but there’s no way he’s doing this alone. I doubt a baby representative is sitting in on meetings with the joint chiefs. Who could be helping him?”
“And that, ladies and gentlemen, is the question,” I declare.
The mystery lingers for a bit before Alpha and Beta’s leaders split off to join their respective teams. Our guys should be at the range, so Bash and I head there. “What do you think our role will be in this?”
The man runs a hand over his dark hair and sighs. “God only knows. I plan on asking Birdie her thoughts after work.”
“I would love to sit in on that conversation,” I mumble. Birdie may be the mousy type, but she becomes a tiger when someone threatens her friends.
“Fine. Let’s meet at our usual place tonight. Say about eight.”
“See you there.”
Over the next hour, our team of eight runs drills on the moving range and closes the session with target practice.
My workday ends at three, and I plan to go home to catch up on some laundry and cleaning. I slide into my Accord, swearing when my hand touches something sticky. “Ugh. But first, to clean out this damned car.”
After going through a car wash and cleaning the inside, I figure I’ve accomplished enough to blow off the rest of the day. I shower, address my long hair, put on some makeup, and dress like a civilian. My legs shove into my favorite jeans, and I complete the fit with cute sandals and a flirty top. I’m not looking to impress anyone. I just needed a confidence boost after waking up looking like a train wreck.
Since I’m already dressed and made up, I figure I’ll get to the bar early and eat instead of risking my clothes by cooking dinner for myself.
The parking lot of the Taphouse is full, which I find odd for a Wednesday night. Then again, for all I know, this place is always busy. As I approach the entrance, I spot a lot of US Navy stickers on the parked cars and trucks. Now, I understand why Bash comes here and why he avoided it for so long after joining our ranks.
I pull open the door and walk in, scanning the place for an empty table for Bash, Birdie, and me, even though they won’t be here for another hour. The place is a portrait of American patriotism. The floor is concrete and cobblestone, and multicolored wood slats make up the walls with a band of blue at the top. Military-themed artwork hangs all around, and various military pins and challenge coins are fixed into the resin tabletops.
A busser cleans a table near the bar, so I head that way, freezing when someone calls my name. Cringing, I turn toward the wall and spot a familiar face sitting in a booth with three other men. His dirty-blond hair is mussed, and dark stubble lines his jaw. God, save me. You can even send Rush the Rocker to do it. I wouldn’t care.
Jackson wears a surprised and amused expression when he stands from his seat. “Good to see you again, Chelsea.”
The devilishly sexy man peers around me before focusing on my face once again. And, of course, he’s standing way too close. “You here alone?”
“I…uh…no.”
Jackson smirks. “No, you’re not alone, or?”
Come on, brain, dammit. Work! “They…uh…Bash and Birdie are coming later. I got here early to get food.” Realizing how that sounded, I rush to explain so he doesn’t think I’m a closet eater. “Dinner. I came early to get some dinner. The others are only coming for drinks, not dinner.”
