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“It doesn’t matter,” Cass states. “With what we found, the gig is up. Harding will shut his sanctimonious mouth, and that’ll be it. Right, boss?”
“Possibly. Private military firms have taken PR hits before. During those times, we signed on to more domestic contracts until the public forgot and things returned to normal.”
Knot’s regurgitated, white-washed answer isn’t sitting right with me. I’d bet a year’s salary he doesn’t believe it either. Why he’s not saying so is beyond me, so I do it for him. “Not this time. Sure, we’ve had bad apples get a lot of press before, but someone’s going through a lot of trouble to stain our profession permanently. In the eyes of Americans, killing innocent foreigners is very different from killing US servicemen. And somebody with military pull is making this happen. I think he’ll keep doing it with or without Harding.”
“So, what would you suggest?” Knot asks.
“Keep quiet what we found. Let whoever this is think we haven’t figured them out.”
Bash shakes his head. “Too late. They took the bait for our fake mission and would already know the ambush failed.”
“True,” I counter. “But they don’t know how successful we were. Let them think they’ve won for now. We have proof they exist. We just need time to find them.”
“And in the meantime, they keep killing soldiers?” Kai asks.
I turn in my seat to face my teammate. “No, because Knot is going to reach out to all PMC firms and quietly inform them of the situation. They’ll know what to look out for and can prepare accordingly. The status quo will remain unchanged, giving us a better chance of finding the person or people responsible.”
Everyone in the room stares at me, but I hold my ground. It’s a good plan. Knot must agree as he stands and releases the lockdown. “Birdie, you get started on everything from the CIA. The rest of you carry on like normal. Chelsea’s right. This isn’t over, and we might need you again. Be ready at a moment’s notice.”
I’m putting away laundry at home later that afternoon when I get a text from Bash. My house at eight. I toss the phone back on my bed with a mock salute. “Yes, sir.”
I arrive early, sporting sweats and a Bad Omens tee. Yeah, I’m still not feeling it today. Birdie is already here because she practically lives with Bash now. “Did you bring me here to grill me some more?”
Bash walks into the room carrying a chair from the kitchen. “Nope. We’ve got work to do.”
We? Bash leaves to get more chairs, and the doorbell rings. Birdie answers, ushering Sadie and Aaron inside. Over the next five minutes, Fish, Devil, and_god help me_Jackson also show up.
I’m not thrilled about my appearance, considering our company, but I’m not hiding in the kitchen. That’s some improvement, at least. And after ten minutes, I haven’t cracked a single joke or hurled the first mock insult, either. Definitely making progress.
Bash offers beers to everyone, and all but me accept. Hey, look at me, not just trying to fit in. Since Bash called the meeting, everyone waits for him to begin. He doesn’t make us wait, starting as soon as he’s cracked the seal on his drink. “I don’t know what kind of update O’Reilly gave you guys today, but I guarantee you didn’t discuss what to do moving forward.”
“I hate to say it, but you’re right,” Jackson confirms. “He told us about an intercepted report describing what someone hoped would happen, but that’s it.”
“Well, Chelsea has an idea of what to expect moving forward, and everyone from Knot down agrees with her theory. The problem is the timeline. We’re stuck waiting for the intel to pan out, but I’m not a fan of sitting on my ass, while the enemy plans his next move.”
All three SEAL gazes swing toward me. “What are you thinking?” Fish presses.
Though I’m in the spotlight again, I’ve now had time to work with these guys and have built a rapport with them. “Someone is using Harding, who readily accepted because of the publicity he gets out of the deal. His source is spearheading these attacks. Harding may or may not know that, but I bet Birdie’s computer he knows something useful.”
Devil’s cold, steely voice shivers my chest. “That leaves us waiting on intel again.”
“No, it doesn’t.”
Devil steeples his fingers together and holds my gaze. “No?”
That man is scary as hell. “No. We don’t wait. That would be a mistake.”
“Then what are you proposing?” Jackson asks.
“We get into Harding’s head.”
Jackson
Bash pulls upright suddenly. “How the hell are we supposed to do that?”
The whole room stares at Chelsea, cute in her lounge clothes and messy hair piled on her head. She sits on the sofa with her bare feet drawn up and tugs her shirt hem down, though nothing is exposed.
I get the idea she wasn’t expecting a crowd and is self-conscious about her appearance. Why, I don’t know. I could eat her up just like she is. Also off is that not a single wisecrack has passed her lips. Mine turn down, frowning at the realization. Something’s wrong with her.
