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“Okay. Would you like to join my group? We could pull up a chair.”
My eyes unwittingly shift to the table where the three strangers sit. All three are seriously fit and hot. I don’t stand a chance. “I think I left my phone in the car. I’d better run and get it.”
I turn on my heel and stride for the door, praying Jackson doesn’t notice the device in my back pocket. Of course, as I reach the door, I feel like slamming my face into it. After my earlier reaction to Jackson, there is no way I could sit at a table with him and his three friends. Not without appearing neurotic, which I am.
I fumble to open the door when I reach my car, flop into the seat, and lean my head against the steering wheel. What the hell are you doing, Chelsea? I thought you preferred to not look like a lunatic. “That guy fries my brain. I’m already weird around new people, but he activates a whole other level of dysfunction.”
More than enough time passes for someone to collect their phone, as long as they’ve parked in the same zip code. Still, I haven’t moved. I can’t go back in there. Doing so now would result in even more questions and awkward answers. Dinner will have to come from somewhere else.
I start the car and drive away, hoping those men will be gone by eight. If not, I’ll make up some excuse and leave. Yeah, because that will seem totally normal.
My favorite deli is only a few blocks away. In just a few minutes, I’m sitting at a table in the back, abusing the bag of chips I picked to go with my club sandwich. By the time my food arrives, they are only crumbs in the bag. I don’t need them anyway. I take an angry bite of the sandwich, berating myself as I chew.
I don’t get why I have to be such a mutant. Meeting new people at work, not a problem. Meeting new people in social settings, not my favorite. Meeting a hot man who melts my insides with just a look, complete cranial meltdown. I can’t even fake it around Jackson like I can with others. It’s annoying. He’s annoying. And he’s probably messing with me on purpose.
At ten ‘til eight, I walk out the door after picking at my sandwich for half an hour. The bar’s parking lot is no less full than before, but at least Bash’s truck is here when I pull in.
I walk inside but only far enough to scan the room and rule out Jackson’s presence. Finding my friends and no threats to my sanity, I head straight for their table and sit. “You look like somebody’s after you,” Birdie says, giggling.
Pasting on my best jester’s face, I wave off her concern. “I’m fine. Weird day.”
Bastien scoffs, turning his ball cap backward. “You ain’t lying.”
A waiter stops by to take our order. I don’t have the energy to act for anyone tonight, so I order a Coke instead of the beer I’d pretend to drink. I’m mildly surprised when Bastien doesn’t comment, but I let it lie since I don’t want to talk about it. “So, Birdie…”
My unspoken question lingers, and Birdie sighs. “Yes, I know everything. No, I don’t have any theories yet. I won’t know anything until I get Iron_”
Bastien clears his throat loudly, and Birdie’s cheeks redden. Continuing in a whisper, she says, “I won’t know anything until I have a chance to look through all the files.”
If what Roman Cargill says is true, there’s something to find, and Birdie will uncover it. Keeping my voice low, I begin working out a theory. “Okay, so let’s assume you find proof this was a setup. There’s no way Harding is manipulating these military operations. And I doubt he has the connections to coordinate with the various enemy combatants.”
Bash pulls his hat from his head, and his dark hazel eyes narrow. “Do you understand what you’re suggesting? That someone in the US government is_on purpose_setting up members of our military for slaughter just to hurt private military companies?”
I lean across the table. “Look. I’m not suggesting anything. I’m asking who might benefit from the complete shutdown of military contracting and how they might accomplish it.”
Bash takes a long pull of his beer, and Birdie spins her glass around. No one speaks for several seconds, absorbing the frightening possibility.
Eventually, Birdie sighs. “She’s right. If we find evidence proving Cargill is telling the truth, Chelsea’s theory is the only one that makes any sense. We have to focus on motive in order to find who’s doing this.”
My partner’s hat goes back on, turned forward again. He still doesn’t say anything, though.
An itch on my neck makes me worry we weren’t quiet enough. I turn around to see who could be listening in on our postulating. Finding no one watching, I dismiss the sensation and turn back around, catching on a pair of dark blue eyes boring into mine from a few feet away.
Jackson. He never left.
Jackson
“Who was that? She’s gorgeous, man.”
Chelsea hurries toward the door just as frantic as last time. I watch until she’s gone and sit down again.
“Yoohoo,” Wrench teases, waving his hand in front of my face.
“What?” I ask, swatting his arm away.
“I asked who that was.”
I glance toward the door again, watching for her return. “That was Chelsea Danforth. She leads one of Knot’s teams with Bash.”
