Page 23 of Love Me Knot

“What’s her problem?” Duck asks through the headset.

Chelsea isn’t wired in and doesn’t hear the question, so there’s no danger in answering. “I guess I am. No, I didn’t do anything to her, and no, I don’t want to talk about it.”

Because he can’t help himself, Duck stretches out his leg and kicks Chelsea’s foot. She turns from the window to look his way, and he opens his pack. Chelsea’s belt, shirt, and vest are packed neatly on top, and he hands them to her.

Chelsea accepts her things with a grateful smile and pulls the shirt over her head. The remainder of her gear rests across her lap, and she sits back again, content to stare out the window at the night sky.

With Chelsea’s gaze elsewhere again, Duck teases, “Guess you’re right. She only hates you.”

“Oh, thanks,” I sneer. “Asshole,” I add, grumbling.

The helo delivers us to Novo Selo Range, a military base operated by NATO Forces. The rest of the team is already there, waiting by a C-17 piloted by Commander Charli Myers, Bandaid’s wife. “Looks like you guys had an interesting night,” she drawls in her lowcountry accent.

Bandaid sidles up to his wife and snickers. “You have no idea.”

Charli winks at him and studies the PMCs. I realize she’s likely never met them before, but she doesn’t question them tagging along on the ride home. “Introductions later. Let’s get you back stateside. Your boss can pick you up from Oceana.”

The flight is about twelve hours long and should land at about five a.m. local time. I expect the team to sleep for the majority of the flight.

The thirty-two operatives board the plane, randomly picking out jump seats for the long trip. Chelsea dives for a seat between two of her teammates, elbowing each one when they groan playfully at her.

The move was likely so she could avoid further interaction with me. What rubs is that she seems so comfortable with her teammates and even mine. It pisses me off even more that I care. I told Fish that because Chelsea wasn’t interested, I wasn’t interested. Aaand that was a load of bullshit.

I pick a seat away from the others and wave off Duck when he approaches. The SEAL medic glances toward Chelsea and back before winking. Great. I’ll never hear the end of this. SEALs gossip like little girls.

After takeoff, the chatter in the plane lessens as people settle in to get some sleep. I’m still wired from my body’s reaction to teasing Chelsea and have no hopes of nodding off any time soon.

Knowing I shouldn’t but doing it anyway, I subtly observe the PMCs. Correction. I study how Chelsea and the other contractors interact with one another. They resemble a family, supporting and teasing one another like my platoon. The men and women working for Knot obviously share a great respect for each other, even with the near-constant ribbing. Also like my team.

Chelsea’s reaction to my men now looks very different from that night she ran into us at the bar. Come to think of it, she talks, jokes, and laughs with everyone but me. Chelsea only seizes up and wields her wicked sarcasm when I’m near.

Damn. I guess she does hate…

Movement to my left catches my attention. Aaron, one of Knot’s team leaders, sits next to Sadie. She elbows him, and he thumps her ear right before placing a rolled-up shirt against his shoulder. Sadie leans against the former Marine Raider, and he rests his chin on her head.

Well, I’ll be damned. That’s it. Chelsea only fights me. I almost laugh. Thirty-seven years old, and I’m reduced to flirting like a kindergartner. I know just how to handle that.

Smiling to myself, I huddle against my bag and close my eyes to sleep.

A kick to my boots jolts me out of my heavy slumber. Surprisingly, I’ve slept through the rest of the flight and landing, a testament to Charli’s skill as a pilot. I look up into the face of my commander. “Welcome back, sailor.”

I push out of the seat and come to attention. “Sir.”

“Stand easy.”

Knot stands next to O’Reilly, and after the mission crew gathers their packs and civilian bags, the two men lead us to an empty hangar to debrief. “Your mission was a success,” Knot announces. “The CIA has already interviewed the failed ambush team and gotten the proof needed to prove conspiracy against private military organizations. While they don’t have any information about who’s behind the effort, the investigation is just beginning.”

O’Reilly says, “You’ve done good work here. PMCs across the country owe you their gratitude, though they can never offer it. As far as you’re concerned, this mission is classified. Speak of it to no one for your protection and in case this team is needed again.”

“Our identities, at least the SEALs, were included in the mission file,” I point out.

The two warhorses grin at one another. “According to Admiral Jameson, the mission, set to be completed by DevGru, was scrubbed. Your involvement was never mentioned.”

That sneaky son of a bitch. That the admiral went through so much trouble to keep mission details a secret is impressive. I won’t deny it scares me to think his effort was necessary.

“So, since there was no mission and you weren’t just in Bulgaria, no debrief is needed.”

O’Reilly wraps up the informal meeting. “Let’s get the hell out of here. I’ve got choppers waiting. We’ll give you a lift back to Knot Corp.”

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