Page 21 of Love Me Knot

Jackson stands and nods, pulling his balaclava back on. “I’ll do it. You keep behind me, but stay close.”

I laugh at his suggestion. “Sure. If you want half the local police force looking for his truck, be my guest.”

Jackson’s hands go to his hips, unused to being questioned. “Alright, Napoleon, what’s your brilliant plan?”

I unstrap my armor and drop it to the ground. Next, I remove my utility belt and hand it to Jackson. Lastly, I peel off my uniform top, revealing a white tank. I pull my pistol from the holster in Jackson’s hands and tuck it into the waistband of my pants.

After a head-to-toe inspection, I release my hair from its bun and tug down the front of my top, exposing cleavage to just the other side of decent.

“What the hell are you doing?” Jackson asks with wide eyes.

I glare at the man, incredulous. “Um. We need to get to the driver without him freaking out. You showing up with your ski mask and gun won’t accomplish that.”

“So… What? You’re going to use your body to ensure safe passage?”

“Not exactly, but I figured if the guy is busy looking at my tits, he won’t notice you creeping up behind him.”

Bandaid jogs over to us, urgency evident in the tightness in his eyes. “We need to get moving. I don’t want to keep these guys sedated too long without backup supplies. Both our bosses will have my ass if we lose any of them.”

I nod and turn back to Jackson. “Are you ready, or do you want to keep arguing about this?”

“Let’s go,” he grunts, gesturing toward the road.

He hands my stuff to Bandaid, and we move in tandem toward the truck. I stay hidden behind Jackson as we near the pavement since he’s still blacked out from head to toe. “I’m going up the driver’s side. The plan is to get him out of the truck. You sneak around the other side and approach from the front.”

Jackson grabs my arm, stopping me from leaving. “And if he decides to shoot instead of standing there drooling?”

I swallow hard and try my damnedest to ignore the warm hand holding my arm. Jackson’s touch has me sinking deeper. Stop it, Chels! Clearing my throat, I slide back into character. “Then you better move fast.”

Jackson rolls his eyes, but I’ve already yanked my arm loose.

Satellite views show that truck parking along this road is common, but mainly during the day. In case someone comes along, I need to hurry, but be careful not to spook the driver. I stand up straight and fluff my hair after clearing the trailer. My steps are bouncy, and I hum as I sashay toward the cab. A red cherry flares, visible in the truck’s mirrors. I know I’ve caught his attention when smoke rolls through the open window.

The man doesn’t open the door, so as I near the step up, I speak to him in Russian. “Give a girl a ride?”

The face that leans through the window is grubby with a long beard. He speaks what I assume is Bulgarian, which I don’t understand. No problem. I revert to the universal language between man and woman. I smile, wink, and puff out my chest while pointing to his cigarette.

Bingo. The door swings open, and the portly driver hops out of the cab. He offers me the pack of cancer sticks, and before I pull one from the sleeve, Jackson emerges from the shadows and puts the guy in a headlock. The pudgy man struggles uselessly, and I turn my unimpressed gaze toward my partner. “See how easy that was?”

Jackson grumbles, “Just go get Bandaid.”

Twenty minutes later, the sleeping captives are loaded, and I climb into the truck’s cab. Jackson joins me in the passenger seat, scanning all the buttons and twin sticks. The ski mask is gone, so I catch all of his comical reaction. “The hell? Do you even know how to turn this damned thing on?”

“You SEALs. You’re accustomed to having clean exit strategies and waiting exfils. You know how they train Force Recon? We get dumped off in the middle of bum fuck Egypt with a mission directive and words of good luck. I can hotwire and drive almost anything with wheels and some without.”

A voice from outside yells, “Don’t tell my wife, but I think I’m in love.”

Wrench closes the trailer doors and jogs off to join the others at the river. I roll the big rig to the highway intersection, careful of our human cargo, and turn back toward Svilengrad. We receive word to take the prisoners to a small airstrip twenty-five kilometers northeast of here. That means I have forty-plus minutes in this cab…alone…with Jackson.

The first five minutes are quiet. Granted, I’m driving a big-ass truck through a tiny-ass village at midnight, but if any of my team were here, we’d be talking all kinds of shit.

The awkward silence must be eating at my assigned partner because it doesn’t take him long to fill the void. “What have you got against me?”

I choke on my own spit, unprepared for the question. Recovering quickly, I answer with a nonchalance I don’t feel. “Um. I don’t even know you.”

Now, Jackson is the one scoffing. I don’t hold out any hope that the man will drop his line of questioning, and Jackson proves me right. “Then why do you short-circuit and run away whenever I come around?”

Checking my side mirrors, I avoid looking at Jackson. “You’re just so hot that when you’re near, my brain cells cease to function.”

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